Charlevoix — The Homeowners Association is one thing, the small town is another. And the truth is, northern Michigan is more small town and less HOA. Of course, every town has laws and regulations. You can’t actually do anything you want with your property. Blight is a concern in every corner of our beautiful state. It’s not okay to have three broken down cars sitting on blocks for six weeks in your front yard if you live in town. But there is a wide chasm between bonafide HOA-ism and normal, functional small-town management.
The HOA is, ultimately, a response to chaos. It’s an attempt to cultivate some kind of order among the mess of an unintelligible society, caused by having people who share almost nothing in common live in close proximity. It’s understandable, but it’s far from ideal. It’s an attempt to put a Band-Aid on a much more severe wound. This HOA solution is, by nature, inherently synthetic. Top-down management that tries desperately to create some kind of shallow cohesion.
More often than not, HOA-ism spirals off into pointless busybody-ism, with obscenely restrictive regulations that end up strangling more and more life from the poor souls who suffer under its petty tyranny. HOA life is like some kind of well-kept summer camp with camp counselors who are constantly monitoring you to make sure you made your bed in the morning before showing up to the cafeteria.
It’s not uncommon to find rules that dictate when you can put up Christmas decorations, what kind of plants you can plant in your yard, and how many vehicles are allowed in your driveway.
“You better not have Frosty the Snowman sitting out on your front porch too long. Otherwise, it’s a fine. We can’t have any of that around here.”
“Let me see those seeds you’ve got, we don’t want any unauthorized grass species on this street.”
The HOA doesn’t aim to cultivate or protect any kind of meaningful culture. It’s not about deep roots or anything fulfilling. It’s just rules for rule’s sake. Pointlessly restrictive. A high-stakes game for bored busybodies.
Small towns in northern Michigan work differently. Truthfully, it would be considered anarchy by typical HOA standards. The variance and permissibility is far beyond the pale of the suburbs. Yet, it’s small towns in northern Michigan that people love to visit and end up on Instagram. Despite the lack of rigid standards, these are the beloved getaways. And what is a getaway after all? Life as we wish it was. Take me away from the HOA. Take me to the small town.
No wonderful photo has ever been taken of the HOA. No beautiful piece of art will ever depict the perfect suburban street. No artist is inspired by its mall culture.
And why is this? Why would the seemingly perfect place be ignored and the imperfect place be treasured? Why doesn’t inspiration come in top-down ordered sterility? Because we don’t actually love perfection. It doesn’t resonate in our hearts. It is, in a sense, foreign to us, because life isn’t perfect or sterile. If all we see is symmetrical, we zone out. We feel dead. We don’t really love a life that is centrally planned. Everything we find beautiful is somehow asymmetrical, unique, slightly blemished, yet still elevating.
The small town in northern Michigan is safe, but not because of endless nitpicking. It’s safe because there is some kind of general cohesion, some kind of shared worldview. There is wiggle room. Push and pull. Northern Michigan has a way of filtering out those who can’t make do without endless shopping and access to everything whenever you want it. If you end up here, this is something you share with the others who live here. It’s not always obvious on the surface. It’s deeper down.
In the small town, a few yards are mowed perfectly. Most are not. Extreme lawn culture isn’t a northern Michigan phenomenon. It doesn’t really take root here. A few houses are new. Most are old. All are different. There are kayaks on top of Subarus parked out on the street. Small campers sit in the driveway for weeks in the summer. There’s a boat in front of the garage a few houses down. A small house with wildflowers growing all around.
Old wooden fences that show the years. Mended, not torn down and replaced. Bikes in the yard. An ancient picnic table next to a house. A neighbor with a big lot is burning brush at the end of September. You can smell that earthy aroma the moment you open the door. There is a beautiful old house that’s being renovated. They are moving slow and doing it themselves. It’s taking a few years. Each summer, they get closer. These are common scenes of a small town in northern Michigan. All of these beautifully imperfect things make a place what it is.
Why then do people lose themselves in futile pursuit of pointless perfection in the sterile HOA? In our time of cultural abundance, sterile consumerist perfection feels like a way to achieve happiness. It becomes an addiction, and it is never enough. More perfection means more happiness. This is how the HOA draws in new believers.
The supremacy of the small town over the HOA is the supremacy of the organic over the synthetic. Individual cultivation over managed boredom. Mended fences over perpetual newness. Screwed up yards over astroturf. Normal balance over petty-rule worship. Freedom over hall monitors. Messy life over well-managed plastic.
O.W. Root is a writer based in Northern Michigan, with a focus on nature, food, style, and culture. Follow him on X @NecktieSalvage.
