Our Little Secret — Nadyne Parr

The shores of a private beach somewhere between Holland and Grand Haven

West Michigan summers are a dream.
This time of year is what we talk about all the other months.
We imagine it when we’re deep in December.
We pretend our toes are in the white beach sand, when they’re trapped in woolen socks - frozen from shoveling snowy driveways and long commutes in the blustery snow.
This is how we stay hopeful.
This is what moves us forward.
This hope.
We don’t mean to complain when the rains of March hit, but we do.
Please forgive us. The anticipation takes hold sometimes.
We forget to be present in winter.
We’re trying.
Some of us anyway.

We just know how great it is here when the flowers of May arrive and we’re uncovering bicycles and stocking cottages for the guests who will descend in droves.
We’re excited for you to get here.
We prepare our fair coastal cities in red carpets of fresh berry stands and open markets bursting with the produce our rich soils and spring temps render.
We welcome you on country roads with corn-on-the-cob and zinnias and giant red tomatoes and perfect pink watermelons. We trim the hedges, update the paint jobs, refill the bird feeders, and ready the guest rooms.
We hail you in with the small town hospitalities you leave your home expecting.
Maybe you don’t know they’re possible until you get here and somehow suddenly - and even magically - you’re relishing in our brand of Americana you’d lost belief even existed anymore.
Yep, see what I mean?
It’s a dream.

We kinda keep it a secret though.
For as lovely as it is, and as much as we want you here, we’re a little hush-hush at large.
And by that I mean, no major global branding… like billboards in North Dakota, t-shirts at TJ Maxx like you see a dime a dozen of for LA or NYC.
We don’t do that so much.
Ours is a sleeker more word-of-mouth kind of style.
We are subtle about it in those louder ways and yet we broadcast enthusiastically in our small circles.

We talk and talk about it when we travel to other cities and countries and shorelines.
We brag a little when we’re asked where we’re from.
We make suggestions in local flyers or drop hints in low budget television commercials.
We see beautiful places around the world, but we make comparisons to us.
We don’t mean to think we’re better, and we boast more than we should probably.
You’d understand if you were here… especially in July.

We are a quiet strength. We are sturdy amidst the misunderstandings when the folks who don’t know about us make their judgements, or even glib remarks.
We need you here to survive as a state and we want you to come, just try not to invite your third cousins and their neighbors. We love them, just not all at once.
We don’t want to add more lanes and tarnish our smaller skylines to make too much room.
And as much as we monitor these things, we’re always amazed that the whole world doesn’t show up here every summer. Paris - even in olympic season - has nothing on us… or so we tout.

We like it this way.
This is our home.
We protect it with a fierce pride.
Already, we’re hard pressed to find a parking spot or a campsite or a vacant hotel room when summer arrives, but we love knowing that we’re just big enough to draw the people, but not famous enough to become skyscraper laden cities, where landscapes are filled with midways, neon, strip malls, and airports.
You can get to us by car, or by a yacht from Chicago, or a train from Detroit, but it’s not a simple direct flight straight to us, nor a well-worn path on the way to anywhere.
We are a special trip; a destination worthy of full attention for awhile.

And so, the word gets out.
Eventually, people talk with people and they start sharing the good news.
The highways line up with campers pulled by half ton pick-ups, carrying eager sportsmen zooming across the borders to drop boats in for a Saturday sunrise cruise.
There’s nothing like the glassy surface of an inland lake when a skier has it all to herself.
The hikers race to the dunes.
The families bring their picnics.
The girlfriends head to vineyards for weekend getaways.
It’s a whole thing.
Please bare with us then if the details of hospitality you’re accustomed to in a more famous place, don’t greet you should you ever come our way. We don’t intend to exclude you. We do what we can to protect the charm, while still attempting to accommodate your vacation dreams. We’re bursting at the seems - the more people come and see and share and sometimes without enough space during the busy seasons but you understand, right? We’re clinging to the slower pace and traditions of a bygone era.

We have sunsets that will take your breath away, campgrounds promising unmatched tranquility, harbors for your pontoons that promise supreme backdrops, and quaint small towns and perfect-sized cities for jazz festivals and wine tasting and romantic strolls and hand-dipped Hudsonville ice cream.
We have it all.
At least, we have all that matters most.
You’ll see when you come.
And upon entrance, you’ll see why I call it, “our little secret”.

So consider this your personal invitation.
Picture this: It’s a Friday.
Your car is packed. Overnight bag, comfy blankets, and a hearty Trader Joe’s supply are all in the back seat. The texts are sent. You’re not going home before the five o’clock bell… and it’s only a couple hours from now. You’re bringing the chips and salsa, the Twizzlers, and the marshmallow sticks.
The girls are bringing the firewood, the graham crackers, and the worn-out stories you’ve told a million times.

And don’t forget to grab some Michigan merch on your way out.
You’ll find friends all over the US who’ll see your “Smitten with the Mitten” hoodie and together you’ll cherish the bond you share from having been here.
We want people to see we’re so much more than a snowstorm, a “constant cloud cover”, or an anecdote to Chicago.

You’ll leave your heart here, we know it.
And it’ll be so hard to say goodbye.
But you can come back.
I’ll have my guest room ready.