A Michigan Thing

12/03/2025

Michigan’s ancient lava flows are some of the oldest exposed rocks on Earth, quietly hiding in the western Upper Peninsula. About 1.1 billion years ago, the Midcontinent Rift tried to split North America apart. It failed—but not before unleashing massive basaltic lava flows that stacked up thousands of feet thick. Over time, those layers tilted, cracked, and eroded into the dramatic spine of the Keweenaw Peninsula and the Porcupine Mountains.

These lava flows are what made Michigan copper country: super-heated fluids moved through the fractured basalt and left behind some of the world’s purest native copper deposits. That’s why the Keweenaw became the birthplace of America’s copper boom. Today, you can still see the flows in towering cliffs, shoreline outcrops, and trail cuts—especially the spectacular, tilted “ribs” of basalt at Brockway Mountain, Copper Harbor, and along the Porkies’ Lake of the Clouds overlook.

Geologically, these rocks are part of the Portage Lake Volcanics, and they record dozens of eruptions over millions of years. The UP’s distinctive north–south ridges, rugged coastlines, and even some inland lakes trace directly back to these ancient lava sheets. In short: Michigan’s most dramatic landscapes were forged in fire long before the Great Lakes ever existed.

The Keweenaw Peninsula and Isle Royale are basically built from these cooled lava sheets that were later tilted and uplifted so they stick up above Lake Superior. Erosion has carved cliffs, ridges, and waterfalls where the hard basalt stands up and softer surrounding rocks have worn away, giving the western U.P. its rugged scenery

12/03/2025

12/02/2025

Michigan stands out as one of North America’s top Christmas-tree producers, ranking #3 in the U.S. with about 1.8 million trees harvested annually across roughly 37,000 acres. The state grows more Christmas-tree species than any other, making it a diverse and reliable supplier for the Midwest. Despite its impressive production, it’s smaller than the giants like Oregon and North Carolina, which each produce roughly twice as many trees.

On the fun side, Michigan trees often have presidential ties, with some even chosen for the White House.

They’re also known for their sustainability, as growers replant multiple seedlings for every tree harvested.

It takes about 6 to 8 years for a tree to reach the perfect height, meaning that your tree might have started growing when the iPhone 5 was new!

All in all, Michigan’s Christmas-tree industry is a unique and essential part of the state’s agricultural landscape!

12/01/2025

Michiganders have a long-standing reputation for quiet, everyday generosity — the kind that shows up in church basements, volunteer fire halls, icy driveways, and along windswept lakeshores.

It’s a culture shaped by hard winters, tight-knit towns, and a shared instinct that people simply look out for one another. You see it in the way neighbors snow-blow each other’s sidewalks without being asked; in Yoopers who pull over to help strangers on US-2; in metro Detroiters organizing huge charity drives through sports teams, union halls, and community groups; and in small towns where fish fries, pasty dinners, and bake sales routinely raise thousands for families in need.

Michigan also ranks consistently high in volunteer hours and charitable giving, fueled by a tradition of philanthropy (hello, Kellogg, Ford, and Kresge foundations) and a deep sense that community is something you do, not something you talk about. From mitten trees to flood cleanups to school supply drives, Michiganders prove over and over that generosity here isn’t a spectacle — it’s everyday life.

This is why I love Michigan so much. We show up. Even when we don’t have enough ourselves, we still take a name off the church Christmas tree or we make Christmas a little easier for someone we love. We were just thankful, now let’s bless someone else.


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11/30/2025

Duncan Woods, November 30, 2025
#2025

11/30/2025

Founded in 1836 at the mouth of the Kalamazoo River, Singapore was meant to be a booming Lake Michigan port city—a rival to Chicago and Milwaukee. It had mills, warehouses, investors from the East Coast, shipbuilding, and a reputation for being a rough, rowdy frontier town full of lumbermen and sailors. But the same forests that made Singapore rich ultimately sealed its fate.

When the Great Chicago Fire of 1871 created a massive demand for lumber, Singapore’s mills went into overdrive. Trees vanished. With no forests left to anchor the land, Lake Michigan’s prevailing winds began pushing the dunes inland. Sand piled against houses, drifted over roads, and slowly engulfed the town.

By the early 1880s, Singapore’s residents abandoned their homes, and the sand kept coming. The last buildings were lost beneath the dunes—some still reportedly intact, buried like a Michigan Pompeii. Today, you can walk above the old town just north of Saugatuck, never realizing your footsteps above an entire lost city.

11/30/2025

12 inches of snow! holidays

11/30/2025

😂

🦌 Christine Clifford captured a few images of "the most UP photo ever," a big ol' buck running free around 3rd Base Bar to the Casa in the city — in a snow storm ahead of Thanksgiving — amidst firearm deer season. myupnow.com/weather

11/30/2025

Several Michigan outfitters run hands-on musher training programs, teaching guests and aspiring racers how to care for sled dogs, build trust with a team, and navigate long winter trails safely. Many mushers in the state also mix tourism with racing, using guided tours to fund training costs and keep well-conditioned teams ready for competition. This hybrid model helps sustain a healthy dog-sledding community even in years when the snow is unpredictable — and it keeps the knowledge, techniques, and traditions of mushing active in the region.

Despite challenges, the tradition is steady — and deeply tied to Michigan’s winter identity.

Variable winters, rising costs of dog care, and Michigan’s distance from Arctic race circuits could have ended the sport here. Instead, a loyal community of mushers, kennels, volunteers, and race organizers has kept sled-dog culture woven into the fabric of U.P. winters. Whether it’s a child meeting their first husky, a family taking a sled ride through snowy pines, or racers thundering down a trail at night under the CopperDog lanterns, dog-sledding remains an authentic, living part of Michigan’s cold-season heritage — a reminder that adventure still happens when the snow flies.

11/29/2025

It’s not looking good for Michigan.

11/28/2025