From the late November 2013 edition of The North Woods Call
We should have known that the rain wouldn’t stop.
All the weather reports said it wouldn’t. And the deep gray clouds that hung over most of Michigan that October day had already been spitting water for the better part of 24 hours.
But on we drove—a former college roommate and I—from the sand-covered eastern shore of Lake Michigan to the northern forests of Roscommon County.
We thought we could escape the precipitation if we traveled far enough—past the blanket of drizzle and into the bright sunshine of a cool autumn day. But the daylight came and went, and we were left without a dry place to pitch our tents and build a campfire.
There was a time when it wouldn’t have mattered. We would have taken to the woods, anyway, and toughed it out on a soggy campsite with the hope of a better day tomorrow. But we’re older now—less inclined toward voluntary suffering—and much prefer to hear raindrops falling on the roof of a dry shelter than dripping into our tents and pooling like unwelcome ponds beneath our sleeping bags.
So we rented a tiny tourist cabin on the western shore of Houghton Lake and dialed up the gas furnace. The quaint log structure—built in the 1950s—featured a small kitchenette, bathroom, dining table, sitting area and two cozy bedrooms.
It was more than we needed, but at least we were out of the nasty weather.
My friend and I have been making these annual pilgrimages for at least 38 years now and many times have attempted to solve the world’s intransigent problems over late night fires. Our animated conversations have typically lasted well into the early morning hours—sometimes past daybreak.
This time was no exception, except we lacked the calming influence of dancing flames and smoldering wood coals. That may be where we went wrong.
In days gone by, we seemed to agree on potential solutions much more than we disagreed. But not so much anymore.
My friend took a sharp left turn somewhere along the way and ended up in places I don’t fully appreciate. He would probably say the same about me, albeit our philosophical destinations vary.
A cold, rainy night in northern Michigan only seemed to exacerbate the differences in our viewpoints.
Still, I have great respect for this political opponent—a smart and articulate observer who can speak intelligently about many subjects. He is good-hearted and courteous to other people. And he has been a major encourager and supporter over the years.
Friends like that are hard to come by and something to be treasured. So it’s particularly troubling when we butt heads like a couple of stubborn bighorn rams on a steep mountainside.
Our disagreement over domestic affairs has seldom been as contentious as it was during this outing. I blame a malfunctioning and extra-constitutional government for many of our nation’s problems—along with deceitful, propaganda-spewing demagogues of all stripes. He says I’m much too harsh in my criticism and should have more respect for public office holders.
Perhaps, but they must earn that respect.
My friend seems blissfully satisfied that our elected and appointed public servants are honorable individuals with good intentions and sufficient integrity. He points to corporate and banking interests as the real culprits.
But that’s not what this tale is really about. The point to be made, as we have often said, is that opposing viewpoints offer new perspectives and opportunities to learn.
Such debates certainly have made my intellectual gears turn on occasion and now I’m told that “a little socialism” is better than “unbridled capitalism.”
Hmmm. Liberty seems to be an increasingly tough sell in the land of the free. But the underlying point is well-taken. Not all business leaders have been models of ethical behavior. Then again, neither have government officials.
Regardless—from what I’ve seen—government doesn’t create wealth. It only consumes and “redistributes” it. Like it or not, free enterprise (within reasonable boundaries that protect the rights of individuals) is what pays the bills, creates jobs and generates tax revenue.
And, despite a handful of so-called “robber barons” that may have operated from time-to-time throughout our history, most businesses and industries have made overwhelmingly positive contributions to society.
Among other things, they have provided employment, helped build personal security, funded schools and hospitals, and supported numerous other institutions and programs that benefit each of us. And they’re responsible for many of the recreation programs and public park lands that we now enjoy.
In Michigan alone, much of the state’s philanthropic history is tied to the land. Many of our state parks—including Hartwick Pines, Brimley, P.H. Hoeft and Warren Dunes—exist because of gifts from private philanthropists. The same is true for national parks and historic sites, such as Acadia in Maine, Grand Teton in Wyoming and the Great Smoky Mountains in Tennessee.
Other private donations have contributed significantly to park planning, development, management and interpretation.
But there’s no need to debate these points here—nearly a month after our Houghton Lake confab ended and tempers cooled.
By the following morning, the rain had mostly stopped, so we traveled back across the state to the Nordhouse Dunes Wilderness Area in the Manistee National Forest. There we finally pitched our tents, had a blazing campfire and engaged in a far more amiable conversation.
We’ll probably always argue the fine points of self-government, but hopefully we’ll each learn something from these exchanges and embrace the truth where we find it.
While a little rain may fall on us from time-to-time, we can’t let the storms of life wash our common sense—or friendships—away.
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