Yesterday I learned two new words; yooper and pasties.
Yooper. Everybody calls the Upper Peninsula “the U.P.,” hence the indigenous natives are known as Yoopers. I resisted the impulse to buy a bumper sticker that says “You say Yooper like it’s a bad thing.”
The Yoopers remind me a lot of Minnesotans. Their winter is so long and so harsh and so awful that when June comes around they just can’t stay indoors any more. This campground is packed.
As you can see, we’re the only ones here without an RV. In other words, the only people who are really enjoying the camping experience, lol noobs.
The other word, pasties, does not, I fear, refer to those things with tassels that the femalians wear in the titty bars. Here, pasties (“pass-tees”) are meat-potato-vegetable pies in a flaky crust, served hot with gravy. The boys and I thought they made a great lunch.
Anyway, here it is, dawn on the western shore of the mighty Lake Michigan. They actually have a bird here that says “Ow!”