The Homestead.

For as long as I can remember, the beginning of August means a trip to the Homestead. On its most basic level, the Homestead is a cabin in the great woods of Michigan's Upper Peninsula, built by my great-grandfather Walfred "Bosco" Johnson and his friend Elson Carberry in the 1940's. It's located between Munising and the Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore near the shores of Lake Superior.

On a deeper level, the Homestead is so much more. It's one-of-a-kind, a place where the sights, sounds, and smells can instantly transport you to summers from long ago. A place seemingly untouched by the decades surrounded by miles and miles of untouched natural beauty. 

The Homestead is a place where...

...your daddy is always happy to give you a lift...

...and a boy can find an adventure around every corner.

A place where a drive down the Homestead road makes you feel like you're 8 years old again...

...and the woods seem untouched since the days of your great-grandparents.

A place where the end of the dock is perfect for long talks and ukulele lessons...

...and scrub brushes, a bucket of water, and a long deck equal hours of entertainment.

A place where beautiful hikes in nearby woods abound...

...you should always pack your swimsuit just in case...

...and the beauty of it all is enough to take your breath away.

It's a place where a legitimate hike usually means a few rounds of discussion about which way to go next...

...and you never pass up an opportunity to take a leap.

A place where waterfalls seem to be tucked behind every nook and cranny...

...and your daddy is...still...happily...carrying...you.

A place where Aunt Vickie rolls out the arts and craft like magic on your great-great-grandmother's farmhouse table...

...and if you wear your sweatshirt and your coat inside you can usually warm up (sometimes).

A place where you can eat s'mores for breakfast...

..and pick wild blueberries just steps off the front porch and eat them until your tummy hurts.

A place where you eagerly sign up for a rock hunting expedition (after all, it should be just around the next bend).

A place where you breath a sigh of relief that the pretty big rock really does exist...

...and you pack your bear whistle because you just can't be too careful.

A place where your Carberry & Johnson shirts are right at home...

...where the sky really is that blue, the trees that green, and the air that clear.

A place where there's always room for two...

...and your aunts, uncles and cousins still gather for an annual porch shot.

It's a place like no other place... and when you're here, you simply can't imagine being anywhere else on earth.