Illustration by Troy DeShano

When I left Michigan for the first time I was naively surprised at how many people new nothing of what we call “the U.P.”

Come to find out explaining an “upper peninsula” is more complicated that you might think..

North of Lake Michigan and Wisconsin a magical stretch of forests reaches along Lake Superior’s southern border from Michigan to Minnesota. If you’ve ever wondered what “air” smells like I highly recommend a visit. I made quite a few trips along the U.P.’s southern route in college and more recently have enjoyed camping along the Lake Superior shoreline.

Besides the sheer lack of people, the other thing I love about the U.P. is that when you do happen across civilization, it’s like you’ve stepped into another country.

The pace slows down exponentially; hit “seek” on your radio and it just spins like a vortex; little towns pass by every couple hours that I like to imagine have their very own Laura Palmers and Big Eds and Log Ladies…

and I’ve said before that even though everyone speaks English, they name their businesses as if no one does.

On one single trip you’ll see a restaurant called “Family Dining” and a corner store called “Grocery,” and I’ve never seen it, but I’m sure somewhere along the way there’s a place called “Bar.” (or maybe “Beer”)

But our favorite of all is a town diner along the “highway” with just the word EAT glowing like a beacon for miles.

In the U.P. there’s no need for clever branding or any marketing. You just say it like it is.

Maybe there’s a lesson there… I don’t know…

What if I had to choose a single all-caps word to wrap up my entire existence? What would it be?

TIRED? HAPPY? SAD? TRYING? SCATTERBRAINED? DAYDREAMER? CYNIC? SURVIVOR?

EAT probably wouldn’t be too far off, honestly.

But it’d probably have to be some McCarthian made-up compound word like MONKEYBARS  or DOUBLEBOGEY or DEFENSIVESPECIALIST

Whatever the heck that means.

Either way it’s comforting to know that in the case I’m traversing the snowy wasteland of middle-of-nowhere Michigan I’ll be guided into the safe harbor of short stacks and sausage gravy by those 3 matter-of-fact letters.

Purchase this Print

EAT is available in a very limited edition of 10 prints. If you love the U.P. grab one today.

EAT Detail Images

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Photo by Troy DeShano

Last year I wrote a post following my annual dude’s camping trip titled “Cheaper than Therapy,” about the value of men spending quality time together for encouragement and just a break from the pressures of life.

This past weekend we had our 3rd annual trip and once again we all agreed that our time spent together away from phones and computers and work and all the other crap that demands our attention was medicinal and absolutely necessary.

I had a ton of fun this year shooting instant film – these were shot on a vintage Colorpack 11 Land Camera. There are few things in life more satisfying than peeling that film apart to discover what’s inside. I’m officially addicted to this stuff.

Check it out! (I dare you to refrain from quoting “The Song of Hiawatha”)

Among the group were two guys who have become seriously important to me over the past few years… my by-default brother Rabbi Morfarts and adventure photographer extraordinaire T.C. Worley. Check out TC’s shots from the trip and a few of these two on a 100-mile mountain bike race on T.C.’s portfolio site.

I also had my parents 1970′s era Polaroid SX70. The new film from The Impossible Project came with more of a learning curve than I expected, but I’m starting to get the hang of it (in other words, shoot only in bright, bright, bright sunlight). It definitely resulted in some super cool shots that you could never duplicate in Photoshop. Check those out on my Facebook Page—you’ll love em.

Got a favorite photo from the set? Let me know in the comment section!

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While in Kenya I lived in the city of Kisumu. Honestly, the city is very, very different than my hometown of Traverse City, MI—in a lot of ways opposite even (like the fact that it is always hot and sunny)

But even with all the differences I felt right at home from the moment I stepped off the plane.

Everything, despite being so different felt really familiar, but the one thing that actually was similar is that the city is right on the shore of Lake Victoria. The funny thing is that I don’t know how many conversations I had trying to describe how large Lake Michigan is (trying to calculate miles to kilometers in my head is hopeless), and my descriptions were never met with the astonishment I’d expected.

Come to find out Lake Victoria is actually larger than Lake Michigan… in fact it’s larger than any other freshwater lake in the world—except for Lake Superior of course.

So as you’d expect, fish is the main export for the region and catching, buying and selling fish is the main source of income for a large part of the population.

And everyone I met gave me the same answer when asked their favorite food—Tilapia.

As common as the fish is, it’s not everyday fare for most locals… more of a special treat. So whenever anyone has a chance to eat it they get really excited (kind of like me & Chalupas).

I got to have a home-cooked Tilapia meal on my first evening in Kisumu and it was easy to see why everyone loves it. While most of the east African diet is hearty and delicious, it can be a little light on flavor (at least after you’ve had the same beans & rice for nearly every meal). So to dig into this flavorful fish is a great exercise for what might be a slightly bored palate.

(of course the fruit is absolutely insane too… no lacking in daily flavor when it comes to fruit)

The next morning I actually got up early with the team to take a boat ride on the peaceful waters of Lake Victoria.

One thing I had in the back of my mind while eating the fish was this YouTube video that I’d seen addressing the fishing industry and the fact that many impoverished widows must prostitute themselves in exchange for fish. So floating around in our little boat and looking into the eyes of the fishermen, some of whom you know will be trading in their day’s work later that evening for some quick pleasure & feeling of power & control was an incredibly surreal experience.

It made made me realize that the value of last night’s dinner was much more than just the few bucks of the purchase.

For many of the women it costs them their bodies and life. If you’re involved in trading fish for sex, chances are you’ll get AIDS. The fishermen don’t really care and the women don’t have any other choice.

This is one reason why in the States we really like the fact that we are so disconnected from our food. You know it doesn’t really come from a farm anymore, but a factory… and that’s just as well with us. It’s one less thing to think about and if you can get cheap chicken… well that’s what America is all about, isn’t it.

We really don’t want to know about the human beings on the other end. We don’t want to know that the American farmer is an endangered species. We don’t want to know that the Columbian coffee picker once had a home and a farm of his own… but now has no other choice but to pick beans for cents a day because all the natural resources in his region have been decimated. We especially don’t want to know that those perfectly melted Nestlé morsels in our cookies may have been produced by slave children in Cote d’Ivoire…

Because knowing that stuff makes me feel guilty.

In fact a lot of proponents for ethical and healthy food production want us to feel guilty. Guilt is a heckuva marketing tool after all (the church has been using it for millennia), and if they can make us feel guilty we just might support their cause.

But I don’t think guilt is necessarily the right response to newfound knowledge of the truth behind our food. I definitely know that it shouldn’t be a deterrent to accepting the truth—because whether we accept it or not, the truth is always true.

So once I’m able to look at my cookie and say “this chocolate has come at a very great price,” it makes me appreciate it a little bit more. It also invokes a bit of compassion and respect for whoever is around the world on the other end of that chocolate, whether it’s a child forced into labor, a woman with no choice or a man unjustly underpaid but doing everything he can to provide a home for his family.

When I know that truth it is inspiring. It makes me want to support those who are trying to create better systems of production. It makes me want to make purchases that I know are better for my neighbor (even if she does live on the other side of the world).

It makes me want to find a way to show my gratitude to those making big sacrifices so that I can eat.

So for me it could be a big move—like one to Africa to minister to the widows and help them find healthier ways to run their business, or it could be a small move—like moving two shelves down to buy the fair trade coffee.

Either way it’s something I can do that’s not a result of guilt, but rather a result of accepting and knowing the truth behind my meal.

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So you may have noticed things have been a little sparse around Strong Odors lately…

It’s practically excruciating sometimes to ignore the blog, but ya gotta do what ya gotta do (or whatever).

Besides working on a variety of graphic design projects, I put together my first set of limited edition prints for a local art/crafts fair. It was a great learning experience and I was so lucky to have a friend walk me through some of the steps that were terrifying to me (ordering frames, for example).

I’ll have those prints available to purchase online soon (I actually have some right now… just email me if you want details), but I’ve been putting my energy into another project over the past week.

I’m going to Africa.

About two years ago, a missions team from our church returned from a trip and shared their stories in the Sunday morning service. I can’t really describe the feelings that I was experiencing, but right then I knew that I would have to go on one of the trips.

This February is the first time since then that my friend Dave (who also happens to be National Director of Christ’s Hope International) is taking a team back to Africa, and I’m going to be there with my sister and a handful of other folks from around Michigan.

I created a new website to spread the word and to try to raise some funds (I need to raise $3,500 in support to cover my expenses). I’ll also be blogging over there some of my reasons for going, my goals for the trip, information about the places and people to whom I’ll be serving, etc.

Please check it out, pray for me as I prepare to go and consider making a contribution.

Stay Up-to-Date

I’ll be posting updates about the trip via Twitter and Facebook. So follow me there and encourage your friends to do the same.

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If you are interested in adventure travel or sports at all, you should check out the current issue (Spring/Summer 2010) of Wend Magazine. It features some killer photos (including the cover shot!) by my good buddy T.C. Worley.

Plus you can check out a story about a gnarly section of the Flathead River valley that I used to call “my backyard.”

Sign up to read every digital edition for free, or pick up a copy at your local Borders or Barnes & Noble

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We recently visited Chimney Rock State Park, just south of Ashville, NC.

It’s a really great destination for families since they’ve added steps, boardwalks and railings to make the hiking accessible to anyone.

We kept calling Exclamation Point “Explanation Point,” which doesn’t sound nearly so awe-inspiring… but it’s worth the extra 1,000 steps or so past Devil’s Head (above)… and the hike back to ground level is really cool, with rock outcroppings and alternate views of the Chimney Rock.

A few of us still had the energy to hike the mile or so out to the 400-ft. Hickory Nut Falls… we weren’t allowed nearly as close as we’d hoped, but maybe next trip there will be fewer park rangers around…

Actually, situations like that are kind of adjusting my parenting.

Those times when I know I would jump the barrier… but don’t want my kids to.

Over the past several years I’ve been trying to keep them from harm’s way… offering up a “be careful” or “no, no, no…” if I happen to catch them doing anything slightly dangerous (like on the jungle gym for instance).

But at some point over the past year I’ve realized… the most fun things in life are dangerous.

I’ve got to breed a little recklessness into them.

I know when I was 8 years old I would have been 20 feet up in a tree… so why do I doubt my own kids’ exploration skills… and more importantly, why would I ever want to rob them of those experiences?

Because they might get hurt?

Getting hurt brings wisdom. Overcoming pain brings courage. Reaching the summit brings enlightenment.

So now I’ve come to anticipate stitches and broken bones and scraped knees and bee stings and fat lips as an imminent part of our life together.

(along with bike ramps and skateboards and tree forts and slides-into-home)

And I expect heartbreak and detention and fender-benders and cigarettes to be a part of our not-nearly-distant-enough future.

(along with first kisses and summer jobs and missions trips and compassion and generosity)

I hope that right now I’m teaching them to make healthy choices as teens, to discover which adventures are worth the risk (love, compassion, discovery)… and which ones are not (rebellion, revenge, status)…

Hopefully the present scrapes and bruises will help future decisions come not from fear, but from wisdom.

Check out more of my photos here.

Everybody Get Dangerous

When I was younger
I used to go and tip cows for fun, yeah
Actually I didn’t do that
‘Cos I didn’t want the cow to be sad
But some of my friends did
They were all just a little bit wicked
They’d blow up mail boxes
With a baseball bat
Go for direct hits

On Halloween you can forget it
They throw rotten eggs into traffic
Toilet paper the fences
Throw the tables, chairs, and the benches
After practice
Sometimes we would break into mad fits
Causin’ damage
(Burnin’ amplifiers and mic stands)

Everybody get dangerous (Boo yah!

I’ve got a confession
That I will make if you will listen
Late in the night times
We’d drive around with hairspray and sharp knives
Lookin’ for road kills
Lightin’ things on fire for cheap thrills
Stab the corpses
And lick the knives like we’re evil forces

Hockey games on frozen ponds
No safety pads were ever put on
Drivin’ home on country roads
Sixty-five in a twenty-five zone
In my parents Tercel
How did we survive so well
Throw the keys and the wheel locked up
I almost killed every one of us…

Everybody get dangerous (Boo yah!)

There must be
A guardian angel
Or some kind of destiny we have
‘Cos we should have died
A long time ago
The way that we were livin’ in our paths

What will we say when our kids come to us
And ask, with a smile on their face,
“Hey Dad, my friend’s got some new ninja swords!
Is it cool if we slash up his place?”

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It had been probably fifteen years since I’d done any kind of guy-trip.

Last summer my friend Robbie and I met up with our buddy T.C. (who happens to be a pretty amazing editorial photographer) in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula for a camping trip and immediately agreed that these things must happen more regularly.

So as soon as the snow melted we had plans for a new trip.

The 2010 group grew to six dudes and our adventure took us further from home and civilization into the Porcupine Mountains.

Driving across the U.P. is like passing through another country. The people there do speak English, but name their business establishments as though no one does (i.e. “Grocery” and “Family Dining”)

We chose Mirror Lake as the hub of our retreat, which worked perfectly because of its central location. We managed to hike 5 different trails going to and from the lake, each one with its own unique personality.

It’s really amazing to sit at a campfire with six men in the middle of nowhere and never once discuss sports or politics or babes, but rather each of us listening and sharing on primarily “how can I be a better husband/dad/human being?”

This year I’ve made a conscious effort to face my fears and make my life an adventure—living more in each moment as it comes…

It was pretty cool to see some of that stuff realized on this trip.

Probably the biggest lesson I’ve learned is that if I start talking myself out of something it is a good sign that “something” is the very thing I should be doing.

Fears or not, I’m living life with no browndries.

Here’s a few of my favorite photos from the weekend. Let me know which is your favorite in the comments!

Also… Click here to check out a few more extra-special shots – don’t forget to “Like.”

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I discovered Spikehorn Meyer this week in an old travel-film clip my grandma sent me

It’s really cool to see mid-century footage of my home here in Traverse City and the Sleeping Bear Dunes, but Ol’ Spikehorn steals the show.

He seems like a guy I’d want to know… or maybe even a guy I might have become…

Spikehorn said that the company of bears was much preferable to that of other people… he might be right, but I guess I’m lucky that I haven’t yet become so cynical about people that I’ve taken to avoiding them altogether…

I was hoping to check out the biography from my local library, but I haven’t had time… each nugget of  information I scrounged up online just made Spikehorn more and more interesting though…

like when he made national news in 1945 after sending wires to Truman, Atlee and Stalin announcing a personal offer of $50K for the capture of Adolph Hitler.

I like him…

Photo from Don Harrison’s Up North Memories Flickr collection. I thought some color might give it a little life.

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You can’t visit New York without catching some live music, and you can’t catch live music like this anywhere but New York.

Cram an Indian marching band, a jazz ensemble, a funk band and 100 audience members (of every race and creed) into a 200 sq. ft. room.

That is Red Baraat at Barbès in Brooklyn.

Thanks Paul for encouraging me to attend.

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This picture could have been taken anywhere.

Catching a bit of air conditioning and cold beverages on a hot August day in anytown U.S.A.

But it isn’t anywhere.

It’s Brooklyn.

Diversity everywhere.

Flea markets (with tall guys that refurbish bikes and small guys that hand-print t-shirts).

Sushi.

Life-changing corn and rainwater toilets.

It’s Brooklyn.

More pics on my portfolio blog.

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