Aloha — Brutus, Borculo, Bitely, Hell, Colon, Oden, Walhalla, Christmas, Romulus, Remus, Aloha. What do these seemingly unrelated names all have in common? They are all towns in Michigan. No, I’m not making it up. Go check the map. Over the years, Michiganders have decided to name the places they live some of the strangest, most perplexing, inspiring, and aspirational things you could dream up.
I’ve long been a student of weird town names. They’ve always cracked me up. They make me wonder what was going through the founders’ heads as they decided the grand or bizarre to etch in stone at the founding of their village. The reasons for historically powerful ones like Romulus and Remus are clear. The town fathers envisioned an epic future for their fledgling settlements. They wanted to give their stories a little historical firepower before they began officially. Bitely and Colon are much less inspiring and far more confusing. Not sure what they were thinking there.
When I first learned there was an Aloha, Michigan, I was, of course, intrigued. A microscopic, unincorporated community in the middle of nowhere? I had to discover whatever there was to discover in Aloha. What happens there? Why did they—whoever they are—name a place in the northeastern woods of Michigan the Hawaiian word for peace, love, compassion, mercy, and hello?
Aloha is less a town and more a collection of a few streets just off M-33, on the eastern side of Mullett Lake. According to the 2020 census, there are 937 people living in the entire Aloha township. There are no stoplights, no post office, and no bank. There is, however, Aloha Store. It’s a small corner store with all the essentials one might need for breakfast, lunch, and dinner while enjoying a stay in Aloha. There are signs for live bait and fresh donuts hanging in the window.
Across from Aloha Store is the Aloha State Park. On a Sunday in late June, it’s packed with campers and RVs. There’s a slow, regular trickle of tourists that wander out and over from the state park and into Aloha Store for their daily sustenance.
The town planners of Aloha went all-in on the tropical, holiday theme. Two blocks north of Aloha Store is Vacationland Drive. One block north of Vacationland is Waikiki Street. If a Waikiki Street in Northern Michigan doesn’t make you laugh a little, I don’t know what will. There are Sea-Doos on trailers alongside the road and boats waiting beside docks behind lakefront houses scattered along Mullett Lake. Aloha is, as the street name suggests, a vacationland.
The weather was strange in Aloha when I visited. Moments of sunshine and puffy white vapor were rudely interrupted by streaks of long, dark gray clouds moving overhead. Around 11 a.m., the sky became a dark, cobalt blue across the lake to the northwest. Gradually one strip of the shore disappeared behind a pillar of white. Rain was coming down in just that one place. It was as if one block of the shore had just vanished. It was a fascinating scene.
My wife has family who live in Hawaii. They often talk about the sudden changes in weather. The bursts of rain and then yellow sun. I couldn’t help but think of them as the weather turned on a dime. It felt so perfect for the weather to be so bizarrely confused on the day we were in Aloha. It made the name make a little more sense.
The gulls began flying around in circles overhead. The wind started up, and the air began getting cooler as the pillar of white drifted slowly across the lake toward Aloha. We knew it was going to reach us sooner or later, but the scene was so striking we didn’t want to leave until the last moment. One raindrop fell, then another, and another, until finally the sky opened up and we were running for the car. We reached the doors just as the downpour started, climbed inside, and watched campers scurry toward the campground as rain pelted our windshield.
So, why is it Aloha and not something like Smithstown, Four Rivers, or Mullett’s Landing? Is it the geography that inspired the name? The weather? The water? The people? No.
How Aloha got its name is much simpler. In the beginning of the 20th century, the village of Aloha was built up around the James B. Patterson sawmill and the F. Hout general store. Patterson had recently visited Hawaii and had the perfect name for the town. Aloha was officially established in 1907.
What’s in a name? Sometimes it’s historical lore and religious devotion. Aspirational dreaming and hopeful planning. Other times, it’s simpler. It’s the owner of the local mill taking a steamer to Hawaii.
Somehow, in some strange way, I suppose the name Aloha suits this little place. No, it’s not tropical or luxurious, but it is a place where people vacation. It is a place where people go to get away, and, even if Patterson didn’t think of it in exactly that way when he named the town, it’s still that way today. It’s not white sand beaches or palm trees. It’s RVs, pontoon boats, and a state park. It’s Aloha, Michigan.
O.W. Root is a writer based in Northern Michigan, with a focus on nature, food, style, and culture. Follow him on X @NecktieSalvage.
