Making Michigan's Forgotten Coast My New Home ❤️

Life is about love and loss.

Home is about finding your place in the world that affords you the peace to endure those losses.

I’m a “Mitten Girl” born and raised. Loud and proud. Strong but sensitive. When troubles came my way... I ran... I ran to the water. I ran home. Not to the place I was raised. Not to the place I was living. I ran to the Harbor.

But not just any harbor... I ran to Harbor Beach, Michigan.

On the south side of town, I sat at Williams Inn, picking from homemade selections at their soup and salad bar. Staring at a huge framed print of Princess Diana. How often I’m told I share her likeness. How fitting I share her name. I thought of her boys losing her as I was now losing my mom.

“Promise me, you’ll find your new happy,” my mom said to me at her bedside on hospice. Together, we’d sat at numerous doctor offices and hospital waiting rooms over the last decade. She, the last, of several loved ones to pass. I’m lost in thought.

Just then, Jenny, a kind server assures me they won’t begin to charge me rent until I’ve stayed at least 4 hours. An unexpected smile spreads across my face and soothes my soul.

Next, I overheard a customer nearby speak of the long walk home across the street and my attention is drawn to homes nearest the shoreline. I reach for my phone inquisitive of what homes on Huron go for around these friendly parts when the list of those on the market graces my screen.

My heart be still.

In disbelief, I whisper, “I could afford to live here?” to my surprise.

I called the Harbor Beach Inn, where Carl, the kind owner of a quaint motel, turned the heat on in my room preparing for my arrival. He gave me specific directions on where to find his location and what stores would be nearby and still open for necessities once I arrived. The next day, he encouraged, should I be interested to make Harbor Beach my home to ask locals of homes they may know will come on the market this spring.

I ran home to pack a bag and pets. He allowed me to stay with my two little dogs in tow. I booked a week, during which time, cruising town, I spotted a woman carrying a boxed flat-screen television set into a Lion’s Hall. I burst through double doors to find a room full of women scrapbooking. Tables of snacks and a couple of children enjoying the spoils.

I poked fun saying, “this must be where they keep the wild women.!” We shared a laugh and then I shared with them my interest to relocate. They ran down a list of potential realtors, listings, and locations, when suddenly someone said, “she’s a stitch, put her in next to Lou!”

Lou.

Yes, there next door to Lou, stood the home of Mary whose heavenly homecoming had come almost a year ago.

In the days to come, Mary’s daughter and son would share the sweet estate where they grew up. We would sit at the dining table in the kitchen sharing similarities of our youth, of losing our fathers then and our mothers now.

It wasn’t long before we’d reached an agreement and a storage unit I’d secure before I skipped out of town to pack and list my home an hour and a half away. Locals would recommend builders, power washers, roofers, and inspectors. I’ve never been more readily aided and checked upon to be sure I had what I needed.

It’s been a month now that I’ve been making my house a home. Playfully dressing up details Mary passed unto me. I’m even happy to report, I’ve accepted an offer as I proofread today!

So should you consider a move to the thumb...

I bid you to consider the beach. Harbor Beach.

I’ll leave singing the praises of its schools, homes, farms, and businesses to its natives.

I’m honored, for the opportunity, to sing praise for its people!

For it’s the people of Harbor Beach who continue to heal my heart.

🏡

- Diana Lea Egan