The Island

Aug 20, 2024

A bull moose looking for love on St. Joseph Island.

Islands are amazing places.  I have been to several islands over my life.  I’ve been able to enjoy the amazing beauty of the Hawaiian islands.  I once sprinted across Wellington airport in New Zealand in search of a men’s room, so technically I was on that island albeit in the airport.  I’ve been across the island of Sabula, which is the only island in Iowa.  It has an island of its own, Driscoll’s island, which is even smaller, but nonetheless, an island.  Many times, I have picked up a guitar on Washington island in Wisconsin and have played concerts at the Trueblood Performing Arts Center as well as fantastic hooleys in the deep of winter at KK Fiske’s.  I’ve also been to the isle of Britain, where I have played my way through Scotland to London.  I’ve especially enjoyed the good people of Herefordshire, who if they were somehow all teleported to Iowa, would be right at home.   The island of Ireland is wrapped in my DNA and heart.  I marvel anew every time I head back and walk along the familiar streets and people in Westport and Claremorris.  I visit my cousin’s both alive in their homes and those who have passed, in the mossy cemeteries on Ballinasmall. Kneeling and praying at my great-great grandparents grave is a homecoming of sorts. 

There’s another place that feels like home to me and that is St. Joseph Island in Ontario, Canada. 

Switchback has played over in St. Joseph for many years, making friends, both Canadian residents and those Americans that have a vacation home on the island.  It is a spot of the world that is interesting to observe.  On the one hand, it is very close in proximity to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, but also as close to the lower part, “the mitten” of Michigan as well.  But, crossing the international bridge in Sault Ste. Marie, in about 30 minutes out on Highway 17, the land changes dramatically.  Sure, there are some farms and some towns, but all in all, the land is wild.  Wild enough to support moose, bear, wolves and whitetail.  It is thrilling to be somewhere that has so much wilderness yet is also considered settled.  Somehow, Canadians were able to make a truce with Mother Nature where folks down south couldn’t.

It is their way of living, that truce.  The people have deer camps in the bush, they pick blackberries, they fish, they walk through pine forests, and they enjoy a healthy way of living that a person in Chicago could only dream of.   And don’t think for a second that these are some backwoods yokels.  It couldn’t be further from the truth in that a majority of the folks are highly successful businesspeople.  They have made their way in the world without sacrificing their ideals.  They don’t need a second home in Malibu because the island is all the home they need.  And I find that holds true for most people who call an island home.  

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