So, I'm a Yooper. When I was still there, I didn't realize what a sense of pride I carried in that title.
Now, unless you can point to your hometown on your hand, you probably have no clue as to what I'm speaking of.
I'm talking about God's Country, Lumberjack Land, the Great North.
The Upper Peninsula of Michigan-- a forgotten and secluded wonder-- that most people in the rest of the country don't even know exists. We have
a hodgepodge accent our own language; a balanced meal consists of beer, pasties, and fudge our own delicacies; wear red long johns and shoot muskets off the back porch our own culture. We call ourselves Yoopers.
We're home to the World's Largest Chain Saw. (in Ishpeming)
"It's Christmas all year round" (in Christmas)
We know the Hiawatha whose sole namesake is random state parks throughout the midwest. (in Ironwood)
Tall tales were built here, by the tall man (& his blue ox) who built our towns (Paul Bunyan in Manistique....and St. Ignace)
We dine with animals..... (in da Soo)
and warn you who not to feed (Porcupine Mountains)
I dropped part of my heart last time I was home and think I'm fine letting the U.P. keep it.