Dear Readers,
I have just returned from D.C. after a long weekend visiting family. Although I get antsy for the comforts of home on what is typically a ten-hour drive, I do enjoy the hills of eastern Pennsylvania and the Great Appalachian Valley, the mist rising over the Smokey Mountains and the sedimentary rocks, a great wall of reds and browns rising on either side of the highway, hugging the road like a rainbow.
As we close in on western Pennsylvania and the Ohio border, the land becomes more flat, less lush and overrun with billboards and service plazas. This is how we know we have returned to the Midwest, and we are on the home stretch.
It’s still a long slog back up to Bay City, but once settled into our historic home, I am reminded of the things I love about the middle. Here is the Saginaw River leading into the Bay. You can follow it out to Lake Huron and drive up the Sunrise Coast along M-23 for picturesque views all the way up to the Straights of Mackinac. Or veer west and follow the 138-mile-long Au Sable River as it meanders northern Michigan and the Huron-Manistee National Forest.
Except for a one-year sabbatical in New Mexico, I have lived in Michigan my whole life. But it wasn’t until I married and had children that I began exploring the Midwest and came to appreciate the age and grace of it. Some years ago, my husband and I started an antique business. Weekend buying trips took us to the upper reaches of Chicago, over to Cleveland, and down as far as Cincinnati.
As a family, we have driven through much of the Midwest, from the sunflower fields of Kansas up to the Badlands, through the twin cities and over to the Wisconsin Dells. We have taken the S.S. Badger from Milwaukee to the eastern shore of Lake Michigan, which is Western Michigan here. We have vacationed all along the coastline from St. Joseph up to Saugatuck and as far north as Traverse City and Petoskey. We have driven through the Upper Peninsula to see the waterfalls and forests and the granddaddy of all Great Lakes, Lake Superior.
A couple of years ago, my husband and I drove to the eastern tip of the UP and took a ferry over the St. Mary’s River to Drummond Island. We stayed at the Drummond Island Resort which is the only accommodations on the Island outside of cabin rentals. Drummond Island is not your typical vacation spot – unless you are an outdoors person. The place is rustic in every sense of the word which is codeword for not my style. I’ll climb a tall hill for a view of Lake Michigan, but a hotel room that overlooks the city is my preference.
That is all to say that when we left the resort to explore the island, I wasn’t expecting a four-mile hike. But it was early October and there was only a slight chill in the air, so we took it slowly and steadily.
We walked the perimeter of the island, a wide path that is meant for off road vehicles, four miles over through the alvars, part of the 1200-acre Maxton Plains Preserve. Alvar is a Swedish term used to describe dry grasslands found on limestone pavements. The limestone there are dolomite rocks, which are so smooth and flat that you could believe they were manmade slabs of cement. As we continued, we reached the very eastern tip of the island, The Steps at Marblehead. From here, you can look out on a vast Lake Huron and see past our border to the islands of Ontario.
Standing there as the fall winds whipped up furious foam on the great lake was exhilarating. My body, warmed from the long uphill hike and simultaneously chilled by the wind, felt as alive as it had ever been: my fingers tingled, my ears rang, my heart pounded, my skin – sprayed with a mist of water – drank in the all the elements at one time.
The experience was memorable enough to give itself over to the name of this magazine, The Dolomite Review, reminding our readers that the Midwest is home to a unique and diverse cadre of ecosystems and people, animals and minerals, political systems, and weather patterns. All of it, and much more, goes into what makes the Midwest rich narrative ground.
We hope to create a little plot of that here at The Dolomite Review. Stories that seep deep into the soil of our souls, poetry that makes castles out of sand and essays that speak the common language of what it means to walk this Middle ground.
We have a big vision for our little space here on the internet: well-paid contributors, contests, guest editors, scholarships and maybe a small press for chapbooks and anthologies. We are hopeful visionaries with dreams of Pushcart winners and a physical space for writers in residence, workshops, and conferences. As we grow our body of work, we would love your feedback. Let us know what you are seeking, what you are reading and where you think the Midwest is going.
~ Maryann
