John Pepin

“Takes rocks and gravel, baby, to make a solid road, make a solid road,” – Bob Dylan

Growing up in a turn-of-the-20th century mining company house, within sight of a hematite mine that had been in operation for nearly a hundred years before I was born, I think I always felt that the red iron ore that underlaid the town was sunk down inside me as deep as a mine shaft.

The red dirt filled our backyard sandbox, covered my hands and clothes when we were outside playing and made me feel like I was a natural part of the soil, the rocks, the old mining town and everything in it.

I have always had a sense that the red dirt turned my blood red.

There were box cars and iron ore cars pulled into and out of our town by mighty engines that put fire trucks and police cruisers to shame in this little boy’s eyes.

The railroad tracks were in sight of our backyard, and we were allowed to run down to the trains when we heard the engine whistle to get an up-close look. We also had a trestle down the road from our house which trains would run across and under.

That raised railroad section, along with entire lengths of tracks, tool sheds, push cars, flashing crossing lights, smiling and waving engineers and more are long gone.

The various colored grasshoppers are still there in the dried grasses and thistle – buzzing, jumping, flying and clicking.

Past the chain link gates and fences around the mine, big shovels dug and moved the rocks around. Workers at the mine drove huge dump trucks. There were three mine shafts at the mine whose headframes tower over the town to this day.

The city also had heavy equipment its workmen used to fix streets. So, it was no surprise that our sandbox activities largely involved creating miniature mines with trains, trucks, bulldozers and more.

The whistle blowing at the flooring mill about a mile away let us know when it was lunchtime. Today, noontime blasts at the only remaining iron ore mine on the peninsula are felt throughout the town – helping to tell time and remind us all how this little town was built.

As my world grew larger, thanks to my parents taking us kids on rides into the woods for fishing, hunting, picnicking and berry picking, I would discover that my love and appreciation for my surroundings only grew.

I got to see animals, plants, trees, flowers and all kinds of things I would never have encountered if confined to the backyard at home – things like beaches covered with smooth sands or interesting rocks, bears and deer, white birch forests and incredible sweeping vistas.

I also became completely captivated with water – the lakes, creeks and rivers that were almost everywhere out there.

Once more, these water features all had individual names, a lot of which were American Indian names like Ontonagon, Escanaba and Tahquamenon.

That was so cool. Tahquamenon was even mentioned in Longfellow’s “Song of Hiawatha.”

This wider world provided the fresh air, heart and soul of my existence. I think I was enthralled with nature and being out there experiencing it from birth.

Adding to all this wonderment, the place I was living and growing up in and around had four distinct seasons. I am still struck by the incredible beauty that cycles throughout the year, providing even more opportunities for a wide range of recreation, exploration, discovery and fun in this wonderful place.

I haven’t even mentioned the fantastical splendor of the Great Lakes. I feel so fortunate to have been able to be born and grow up in Michigan. There are other states that I am in love with – California, New Mexico and Minnesota – but I can’t think of a place better to be born in than Michigan.

At some point in my childhood, I began to need a deeper understanding of these natural features that had become so important to me.

I got interested in learning about birds, in particular, which occurred after we did a class project in grade school building bird feeders out of a quart-sized milk carton. I also learned from the teacher about suet, that we could get it from the butcher at the grocery store and that some kinds of birds loved it.

Through the Golden Guides – small, but indispensable books on these kinds of subjects – I first devoured the knowledge of wild bird identification. I eventually had more than a dozen of these Herbert S. Zim guides on everything from trees, mammals, flowers and insects to pond life, stars, seashells and fossils.

Beyond the bird guide, some of my favorites were the rocks and minerals, fishes, gamebirds and reptiles and amphibian volumes. These books are still available today and they remain fantastic resources for young and old.

The older I got, the wider my interests became as did my depth of knowledge. In college and graduate school, I studied geology and geomorphology. I learned about minerals, geology of the Grand Canyon, Zion and Bryce Canyon national parks and took graduate courses in glacial and fluvial geomorphology, learning a great deal about glaciers and rivers.

Today, my bookshelves at home still have some of my college textbooks, my Zim Golden Guides collection and shelves and shelves of other books on a wide variety of topics.

I am still greatly infatuated with knowledge and learning. My studies into local history have enhanced my initial explorations into nature, American Indians and other subjects directly related to the region.

There will always be things that I want to learn more about and new topics I want to investigate. I know that when I leave this earth, I will be taking a head full of questions with me and maybe even a couple books and countless songs committed to memory.

Across this wild and still rugged region, there are countless dirt roads I’ve never traveled, railroad tracks I’ve never walked and streams and lakes I’ve never explored.

I sometimes sit for hours poring over maps, finding new places to visit and experience. I also love to look at old maps to see how things have changed since my formative years.

I have numerous digital resources that I use to help me learn, but for me, you still can’t beat a paper map or a hardcover book. I love a watch with hands, compasses and a good old pocketknife.

I’ve been wearing cowboy boots almost every single day for more than 40 years. I bought my first pair in Texas after an evening I was out walking in a grassy field and almost put my foot down on top of a coiled snake.

I love old-fashioned things that work as well today as they did a half-century ago. Things like checkerboards, dominoes, marbles, shovels, silverware, shotguns, fishing rods, door keys, campfires and wooden benches.

Even the weather in Michigan is something that I have come to love. Occasionally, we have a tougher winter that tests my resolve, but I didn’t realize how much I loved and missed the state’s four seasons until I moved out west.

It’s one of the main reasons I came home.

Pushing the back door open, I head out onto the back patio, where the sun is shining, the sky is blue and it’s 65 degrees. That’s just about perfect for me. We might even get an opportunity to enjoy a thunderstorm later in the day.

For now, I’ll just soak up some of that sunshine. I miss it so much during the wintertime.

There are birds singing from the depths of the green and leafy woods. I think I’ll sit in my rocking chair and close my eyes listening, while the warm and gentle winds move across my face and body.

It’s a good day to get out into the woods. I plan to do just that.

I need to hear my boots on gravel and watch the sun go down with my fishing pole in my hand. I’ll listen for the whip-poor-wills and watch for the fireflies.

Trying to slow down time.

John Pepin is the deputy public information officer for the Michigan Department of Natural Resources. Outdoors North is a weekly column produced by the Michigan Department of Natural Resources on a wide range of topics important to those who enjoy and appreciate Michigan’s world-class natural resources of the Upper Peninsula. Send correspondence to pepinj@michigan.gov or 1990 U.S. 41 South, Marquette, Mich., 49855.