Away Game: West Michigan
The longest days of the year are best spent on the west side of the state
Away Game is a format that showcases journeys as they unfold. Live dispatches from unfamiliar places. Notes, stories, and reflections on the thrill of discovery. Mostly photos, with some shorter-form writing intertwined.
Away Game: West Michigan
No matter where I travel throughout the year, my favorite days always end up being the ones spent in West Michigan. I promise that’s not a sensationalized headline, or a statement paid for by the Pure Michigan tourism alliance. There’s truly no place I’d rather post up.
I love spreading the good West Michigan word — my praise flows easily, naturally. If you’ve spent any time around me, you’ve heard my overeffusive tales about Lake Michigan, probably looked over my shoulder as I flipped through photos on my phone. And while my spirited testimonies might give you an idea of what it’s like to spend time on the ‘third coast,’ I know they don't do it justice.
Until you make it out here, until you pull to the end of the road, where dune meets lake, it’s impossible to comprehend the scenes.
I find this to be true of the state of Michigan in general — it’s a hard place to comprehend. Outdated sentiments about the city of Detroit are applied broadly to the whole state. Gritty, dangerous, desolate, nothing going on. Detroit’s been through it — it’s still going through it — but it’s the most vibrant it’s been in my lifetime. It punches well above its weight in terms of art, culture, food, and pulse. And even so, the state of Michigan has so much more to offer beyond Detroit.
I’m writing to you today from the western edge of the Eastern Time Zone, just outside Holland, Michigan. The sun will fade over the horizon at 9:24 pm, with another hour of afterglow to follow. Sunsets — especially the fiery orange and blushed pink ones out here — are worth planning days around.
Growing up, heading “Up North” was a common phrase you’d hear. Traverse City, Charlevoix, Gaylord — all prime destinations for peak summer hangs in Northern Mich. Rarely was anyone headed “Out West,” and I certainly wasn’t. It wasn’t until my brother was traded from the Tri-City Storm to the Muskegon Lumberjacks (a blockbuster USHL transaction) that my family got acquainted with the west side of the state and all its glory.
It’s amazing to think that a place that, less than a decade ago, was completely unfamiliar to me, is now somewhere I know so intimately. The curves of Butternut Dr., the layout of the aisles at Supermercado Santa Fe, the route to the party store where they sell the jumbo bags of ice, and the best roadside farm stand to pick up a pint of blueberries. The one thing I’ll never master is the menu at Captain Sundae, which runs far too deep for even the most passionate ice cream eater to conquer (you should just get the Tommy Turtle anyway).
West Michigan is where I head when I want pervasive peace, endless days of sunshine, long outdoor cooking sessions, and the sound of waves crashing against the shore as I drift into a deep sleep. It’s restorative in a way that almost feels like a full reset. There’s a groundedness that slowly envelops when you’re close to the lake — an impossible feeling to find in the rush of life in a city. Lake Michigan, in particular, is a powerful force, an imposing body of water. Its movements — swirling tides and crashing waves — often more closely resemble the ocean than a freshwater lake. But the slow, quiet mornings, watching the sun glisten over the softness and stillness of its surface, remind you what a comforting presence it can be.
After a while, a desire to emerge from the state of restfulness — to reengage with other humans, to take a break from cooking, to have a cold beer on draft — starts to rise. That’s when I’ll hit the road and head toward town — in this case, either north to Grand Haven, or south to Holland. The cities that line the coast are humble, charming, and packed with small-town gems.
On one of Grand Haven’s main drags sits Morning Star Cafe, a Southwest-inspired diner with kitschy decor, enthusiastic service, and breakfast fare that hits harder than you can imagine. South Tucson scramble, huevos rancheros, and the obvious big hitter: the Big Star burrito with scrambled eggs and chorizo. Blueberry oat griddle pancakes are an obligatory order for the table, and the $2.55 upgrade to Michigan maple syrup is essential. Packed from open to close, seven days a week, Morning Star isn’t just good — it’s good all the time. While you wait for your table, there’s The Bookman next door, and The Book Cellar around the corner. I’m told the owners are friends, not rivals — not sure I believe it, though.
Down in Holland, the Saturday farmers' market is the main draw — and for good reason. A wander through the vendors will leave you stocked on asparagus, sweet corn, and tart cherries, plus a container (or two) of whitefish pâté. Afterwards, an iced latte from 205 Coffee Bar (or Stovestop Roasters, a little further down the road) will fuel you for an afternoon of (highly competitive) pickleball, calisthenic workouts in the park, and cold plunges in the lake.
More than anything, what I love about West Michigan is that it serves as the backdrop — the foundation — for doing all the things I love, just a little differently than usual. Ripping down backroads, blasting ELO’s “Evil Woman,” rather than listening on my speakers at home. Playing backgammon and Tiến Lên on a sandy beach, not at Tom’s apartment. Cooking up a badass dinner on the charcoal grill, with a little more space to work than in my 1-bedroom. The days out here are long, filled with so many great things — and somehow, still not quite long enough.
A few more standout shots from this week — West Olive, Grand Haven, Holland, Grand Rapids:
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Washed in beauty and surround by peace. A rare state of being and gift to the soul.
What Mike said.