“You were right,” Susan said. “The view’s great from the other side of the road.”

Jimmy Duncan watched her approach, the sun behind her and the wind riffling her hair. She fiddled with her camera a moment, then plopped down beside him on the grassy hillside. To their left, loomed a wall of black forest; jungle birds screamed and chattered in the trees. To the right, beyond the rented Jeep, a line of ragged mountains marched away into the blue distance.

“How do you know this place?” she asked. “You never said anything about all this.”

“I don’t know the whole country. Just this area.”

She grinned. “And I thought you’d told me all your secrets.”

When he didn’t reply, Susan’s voice turned soft. “This has something to do with the accident, doesn’t it?”

“Why do you think that?”

“Because I know you. The look on your face.”

Jimmy sighed. “That was a long time ago.”

“So?”

“Besides”—he plucked a blade of grass, examined it, twirled it between a thumb and forefinger before the wind took it—“I’m not even sure you’d call it an accident.”

“What would you call it?”

…

“A miracle,” the cop said.

Jimmy turned his head toward the voice. Not his eyes, just his head. His eyes were bandaged tight. “What’d you say?”

“I said it was a miracle. That car of yours was squashed so flat we thought you was too. You’re one lucky fool.”

Jimmy groaned. He didn’t feel lucky. He felt blind, and nauseated, and achy. From somewhere down the hall, he heard the sad rattle of a cart as patients were brought their lunch trays.

“The other driver?” Jimmy asked.

“Not even a bruise. Them 18-wheelers are built like tanks.” Jimmy heard a rasping sound, and realized the cop was scratching his chin. “Want some advice, kid? That truck’s company owns a thousand stores, and we got three witnesses say it ran the light. Sue ’em, settle for a couple million, and move to Hawaii. Beaches, sunsets, girls in grass skirts.”

“What if you can’t see them?” Jimmy asked.

“Yeah, well, that could be a problem.” The cop cleared his throat. “Catch you later.”

Which was a lie. The cop didn’t return. The doctor, however, did. Along with a parade of nurses and orderlies and even a few lawyers. But no friends, and no family. Jimmy didn’t have any of those.

He didn’t even have a home. For the past two months, since the layoff from the warehouse in East Texas, he’d been on the road. Footloose, but not fancy-free. His savings were gone now. He’d hoped to sell some of his paintings, but that notion had suffered the same fate as most of his other ideas. In San Francisco he’d heard about an art colony near Vancouver and headed north. Why not? He’d never seen Canada. Then, in Oregon, a truck had failed to stop for a red light. What had stopped was his tour of the Northwest.

Broke, alone, homeless, blind. Even his artwork was gone, destroyed in the crash. He didn’t know what hospital he was in, or who was paying for his treatment. Uncle Sam, probably.

He almost wished he hadn’t been thrown clear, wished he’d been squashed as flat as his 10-year-old Civic. Easier for everybody.

But life went on.

As if proving that, Jimmy soon learned to ID the hospital staff from their voices. He had little choice; his hearing was one of the few senses he had left. He wondered if he’d ever see anything again.

“Pressure on the optic nerve, plus a scratched cornea,” the doc said. “A specialist is coming in. We’ll know more then.”

Three specialists and two surgeries later, Jimmy was told he would regain his sight. Two months from now, maybe less.

His body was another matter. Multiple head and back injuries, partial paralysis. He could move his neck and his left arm, but only slightly. Otherwise, zip. Each day he was lifted into a wheelchair beside his bed, and each day he wondered why the wheelchair. Did they think he was going someplace? He was left to sit there a couple hours, and then they swung him back into his bed, like a sack of feed. Day after day.

And then he met Maria. She came one morning like a fuzzy dream while he was in the chair and whispered in his ear. He turned his head in the direction of her voice. Many people had spoken to him during his stay, but this was the first whisper. It had a Spanish accent.

“The weendow,” she said. “You must make it to the weendow.” And squeezed his hand. Then she was gone.

A nurse told him later who the woman was. Maria Renaldo, from the fifth floor. A small lady, mid-80s. She loved to talk with patients. No one knew whether her goodwill visits accomplished much, but since she was harmless the hospital allowed her free access.

Fiction: The Outside World The Saturday Evening Post

The Upper Peninsula's Porcupine Mountains. Photo by Jeffrey Foltice, courtesy michigan.org

With two national forests, America’s first National Lakeshore, and dozens of state parks and woodlands, Michigan’s Upper Peninsula offers as many beautiful fall locales as anywhere in the U.S. Furthermore, it is one of the most isolated places in the mainland. The UP makes up one quarter of Michigan’s land area but is home to only three percent of the state’s population, making it secluded enough that visitors can enjoy natural serenity without getting overrun by “leaf peepers.” Here are some of the most notable places in the UP.

Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore

Lake Superior waves meet cliffs at the Pictured Rocks' Battleship Row.

This destination in north central UP on Lake Superior is worth visiting at any time. There are hundreds of miles of trails, sandstone cliffs, waterfalls, a seemingly endless beach, and sparkling turquoise blue water. Unlike most Great Lake beaches that are simply sandy, Pictured Rocks’ shoreline is strewn with literally billions of small rocks, each a different color, and a reminder that Superior sits on much more rocky terrain than its cousins. Spring brings a myriad of wildflowers, summers are a pleasant 70 degrees, and winter affords snowmobiling and cross country skiing opportunities.

Chapel Rock, a famed sandstone formation at Pictured Rocks. Photo by Joel Feenstra.

However, Pictured Rocks becomes positively enchanting in fall. Trees such as beech, aspen, maple, and birch put on a show each autumn, their vibrant colors complemented by a palette of evergreen, sandstone, and shimmering blue. An interesting species is the Tamarack, a deciduous conifer tree. Although this may sound like an oxymoron, it is one of only a few trees in the world that sheds needles in fall, changing from a dark evergreen to a golden yellow in the process. Due to the moderating influence of Superior, Pictured Rocks is one of the last places in the UP to experience leaf change even though it is at the northern edge, making it available later in the year. Perhaps best of all, cooler temperatures mean that fall is a time when visitors can enjoy the park without being pestered by what locals call the “UP State Bird”–the mosquito.

Waterfalls

Upper Tahquemenon Falls, the second largest waterfall east of the Mississippi.

One special thing about the UP is its unique geology. It sits at the southern edge of the Canadian Shield, a feature named because it extends from the Great Lakes all the way around the Hudson Bay into the arctic, giving it a shield-like appearance. In the last ice age, receding glaciers stripped the Shield of most of its topsoil, exposing massive quantities of bedrock. This means water doesn’t easily carve out riverbeds in the UP, but instead travels over unyielding rock. The end result: waterfalls. The UP has over 300 of them, including Tahquamenon Falls , the second largest east of the Mississippi.

Bond Falls in the western UP. Photo by Myron Reynard.

It is hard to think of a better example of nature’s beauty than a waterfall surrounded by fall foliage, and this is a sight that welcomes visitors regardless of location on the peninsula. Majestic Tahquamenon is in the east. In the west, Ottawa National Forest offers Agate Falls (see photo at top) and Bond Falls. Chapel, Sable, Munising, and Miners Falls are among over 20 waterfalls in Alger County, which is also the home of the Pictured Rocks. Eagle, Silver, and Canyon Falls await in the northern Keweenaw Peninsula, and Pemene, Rapid River, and Haymeadow Falls exist to the south.

Keweenaw Peninsula

The Northern Lights reflect off Lake Superior. Photo by Dan Urbanski, courtesy pasty.com

Keweenaw is the Upper Peninsula’s, well, upper peninsula, and its remoteness makes it consistently listed among the top places in America for leaf color road trips. Some say that it is the best place in the U.S. mainland to see another type of fall color—the aurora borealis—for a number of reasons. Keweenaw is, of course, northern. Its small population makes light pollution low. Fall brings clear night skies and one can see for miles across the lake, and it is the season when the aurora begins to pick up.

A typical autumn drive in the UP. Photo by Brenda Leigh, courtesy pasty.com

Keweenaw’s history also makes it worth a visit. It was once home to the largest copper deposit in the world, which American Indians started mining before the Egyptians built the pyramids. Occasionally, visitors stumble across the ancient hammers and tools they used. Copper really boomed in the 1800s, and historical mining ruins are everywhere. One last thing worth seeing is Brockway Mountain Drive. This scenic road travels along the Keweenaw Fault, a remnant of a billion-year-old continental rift system, and offers endless panoramic views.

Special thanks to Brody Block at Pictured Rocks, Charlie Hopper at pasty.com and the good people at michigan.org.

Fall Travel: Michigan’s Upper Peninsula The Saturday Evening Post