This summer, our family moved back to Empire, the little village I had claimed as “home” when I moved to northern Michigan six years ago. Our move away from the village had been out of necessity. When we were looking to buy a house to fit our growing family in 2020, our budget limited us to places further inland. We always knew that move was temporary and hoped to find ourselves closer to the lakeshore within the next ten years. Amazingly, we moved back to Empire this summer, just two houses down from the cottage I had first moved into when I moved north.
When I first wanted to move to northern Michigan, a thought echoed in my head: “Move to northern Michigan. Find a space.”
I envisioned this meant a commercial building, something I could invite others into. Maybe a shop, maybe a retreat space, maybe an inn. Once I moved here, I offered up different versions of this, letting friends stay in my little cottage when I was away. I welcomed artists to spend a weekend in the loft, while I served as the innkeeper below. Eventually, I opened a small shop in the village that sold gifts and food. I don't think I really knew what I was being pulled towards initially. Perhaps even now, I don't know.
I do think I am closer to understanding. Six years in and I have learned that finding a space here was much less about the work that I did or a building I owned or managed, and more about investing in the community. I think the intent was always to settle in and be a part of something bigger than myself. To know my neighbors, and care for the earth; to let that be my marker for creating a meaningful life.
I started that work in Empire on a quiet street and this summer, we moved back to that same street to continue finding our space.
Perhaps the most beautiful realization I have had these last few years, is that my belonging here has nothing to do with what I accomplish here. The end goal is not to individuate. No, I am here to be a neighbor, a friend, a mother. I will work, and I will write, but none of that is more important than the meals I share with neighbors or the conversations I find myself in on street corners. The lessons my son learns by watching me.
We are all so bound up together, but it is too easy to forget. So easy to think our greatest worth comes through our careers. But we are not our work. We are not our productivity or our salaries or our job title. Our purpose is so much more simple than all that. We are human, and we belong to one another. We belong to the earth, the waters. We don’t need to prove a thing.
Last week, Tim was working late, so Daniel and I packed our dinner and went to the beach. I needed a change of scenery for the last hour of solo childcare for the day. It was a cool evening, but the wind had finally calmed after a week of wildness, and I could see the sun peeking out. We sat on the wall facing Lake Michigan, bundled in hats and gloves, and ate dinner. Every car that drove into the parking lot made him ask, “Mama, who is that?” Because it is late October and most tourists have gone, we knew almost everyone who pulled into the lot that night. Some stayed cozy in their cars; “Mama, are they going to join us?” and others stepped out to visit. A neighbor girl Daniel’s age ran to join him, and he shared his dinner with her.
When I first moved to northern Michigan, it was based on a desire to be close to Lake Michigan, based on some intuitive sense that this was my home. I came to be alone. I thought only of myself at the time, thought only of what I wanted my life to feel like. But these last few years, this place has taught me more of what it means to look out for others. What it means to care for the ground under my feet. Maybe that’s what brought me here all those years ago, beckoned by the Lake. I thought it would be a good place to learn to be alone, but instead, I am learning just how together we all are.
New Logo & Rebrand
I am so grateful to have worked with my good friend Kelsey Ramirez on a rebrand for this project, adopting the name “Lake Letters” (my book title) for all of my water-centric writing. She has created a beautiful logo and assets that complement the project, and I am excited to utilize these designs in some new products throughout the coming year.
Mail me your lake stories!
I love getting mail, and my visits to the post office are a beloved part of my daily routine. Please send me a note sometime! Share a poem, a favorite lake memory, or a question. I will do my best to respond to each one.
Write to me at:
Mae Stier
PO Box 411
Empire MI 49630