HOPE TOWNSHIPS, Mich. – Lori Stade stood at the edge of her property looking with despair at the cattails and brush, trees and weeds that have grown tall in the space where a canal used to be.
Her seawall drops about 7 feet into a mucky gully where freshwater once flowed from a manmade reservoir known as Wixom Lake.
When the canal behind her house brimmed with water, “you couldn't ask for a nicer place to retire. It’s a vacation spot. It’s agricultural. It’s family oriented,” she said of Hope, a 24-square-mile town of about 1,300 people in mid-Michigan, where cottages sit beside acres of farmland.
So when the water disappeared in Wixom Lake and its canals in May 2020, residents of Midland County’s Hope lost some of theirs.
It washed away when the Tittabawassee and Tobacco rivers swelled amid days of heavy rainfall, overpowering a portion of the earthen embankment of the Edenville Dam.
A surge of raging water caused at least $200 million in damage as it also took out the Sanford Dam, crashed into the M-30 bridge, and forced roughly 10,000 people in Midland and Gladwin counties to evacuate.
“It was like something out of a disaster movie,” said Stade, who is 67.
Properties flooded in the swell of the dam breaks, and what was left behind was a hollowed-out gash of earth that in places resembled a sandy moonscape littered with debris — planks of wood from docks, twisted hoists, overturned boats.
The water that once filled Wixom Lake, Sanford Lake and their connected system of canals was almost entirely gone, as if a plug had been yanked from a bathtub drain.
Along with the dried up lakes went the property values of the Michiganders who lived and played on their shores, the economic stability that recreation and tourism brought to Midland and Gladwin counties.
This summer, USA Today reporters visited six towns called Hope from Maine to Alaska in search of stories about Americans’ triumphs, struggles and what gives them hope in this time of political division.
And in Michigan, there is a whole lot of “Hope.”
A second Hope Township lies 140 miles southwest of Stade's home. There's also the village of Port Hope on the shores of Lake Huron; Hope College on its western coast; a pair of lakes named Hope and a Hope Creek.
The state boasts nearly 3,300 linear miles of freshwater coastline — more than any other state in the U.S. No matter where you are in Michigan, you’re never more than 6 miles from a source of freshwater, whether it’s a lake or a stream, canal or a pond, and you’re never more than 85 miles from a Great Lake.
In this state, water is everything, especially in summer, and access to it creates a dividing line of sorts between the haves and the have nots.
Common ground in Michigan's Hopes
Before disaster struck and the water gushed out of Wixom Lake, long summer days in Midland County’s Hope meant zigzagging the water in a speedboat with squealing kids in tow, anchoring in pontoon alley and splashing along the sandbar, or casting a line and waiting patiently for the big one to bite.
On their little piece of shoreline, the Stades built their dream retirement home 24 years ago, digging the foundation for a small log cabin into a hilly plot at the end of the canal that once flowed behind Kaypat Road.
“This is all we could afford,” said Stade, who spent most of her life in Macomb County. She is retired now, but worked for years as a travel agent and a high school Spanish teacher. Her husband, Richard, was an assembly-line worker for Ford Motor Co.
They fell in love with mid-Michigan’s lakes in the 1980s, and the seemingly endless fields of farmland around them, where roadside stands sell homegrown tomatoes and peaches, cabbage, beans and fresh-laid eggs. It’s where life is slower, and there isn’t any rush-hour traffic — unless you count getting stuck behind a big-wheeled tractor rolling down a rural road.
Eventually, the Stades’ saved enough money to buy a sliver of waterfront land in Hope, a community that is so small, the downtown isn’t a downtown at all, as much as a tiny cluster of buildings comprising just a church, post office, fire station and white-sided township hall.
“We paid $12,000 for this little lot,” Stade said. “We ordered the logs from a company in northern Michigan, and they all came like Lincoln Logs, labeled A, B, C, D.”
With the help of friends and family, it took the Stades one summer to build their Up North retreat — a log cabin with a bedroom on the main floor, an upstairs loft and a basement that walks out to the canal, where they could easily launch a boat, cast a line or sit by a fire and roast marshmallows on the shore.
That’s the way life is now in the other Michigan town called Hope.
There, many of the residents of Barry County's Hope commute to Kalamazoo, Grand Rapids or Battle Creek for jobs in manufacturing, accounting and IT. But at the end of each workday, they come back to Hope, which can feel like an escape with its rolling green hills and more than two dozen lakes, said Debby Jackson, Hope Township's clerk.
“We’re all very happy and very blessed to live here. It’s beautiful,” said Jackson, who has lived in town for more than three decades.
She acknowledged it can be confusing having two communities in the same state with the same name. The township offices get “way too many calls” from people inquiring about the other Hope, she said.
The similarities between the two are striking. Both of Michigan’s Hopes are seated in agricultural areas with recreational lakes. And both have leaned politically conservative for decades, though the state overall voted reliably blue in presidential elections from 1988 until 2016.
Jackson described Barry County’s Hope as “very red.” You’d be hard-pressed to find a Democrat in the area — or one who would admit it.
She doesn’t expect that to change this November.
“People are very into their Second Amendment rights here and I would just say, (are) generally very conservative,” Jackson said. “I wouldn’t necessarily say those who vote for (former President Donald) Trump are in love with him. They don’t want to vote for the alternative."
Politics aside, Jackson said most people get along and are neighborly.
“We’re all Americans and we should be able to work and hurt and heal together,” she said, pausing. “And for some of the extremes we have, we should be able to meet somewhere in the middle. It’s possible. You don’t have to change people, just try to accept each other for who they are."
The answer to political animosity, she said, is as simple as shutting off the television, stepping away from social media and into Michigan’s outdoor playground.
“Tune out for a bit,” she said. Go for a walk or a swim. “Help your neighbor. Help somebody. Try to understand others’ viewpoints; not everyone’s experiences are the same.”
The Anxious States of America: We searched for Hope. Here's what we found.
'Hey, what do you need?'
Jeanne Hope has felt the help-your-neighbor mentality in Barry County’s Hope.
A divorced mother of three grown children, seven grandchildren, and a soon-to-be great-grandmother, Hope, 67, likes to ride her Yamaha V Star 950 motorcycle along the township's windy two-laned roads lined with U.S. flags.
In her Hope Township, she said, “if you need help, somebody is likely there for you. If they can’t, they know somebody who can.
“I love it here. We’re not ‘Don’t talk to me. Leave me alone.’ It’s more like ‘Hey, what do you need?’ That’s something this country needs more of. More caring about each other.”
Three years ago, Hope and other area bikers organized a charity motorcycle ride for a friend in nearby Prairieville who was about to lose his home during the height of the COVID-19 pandemic.
“We got a police escort and everything,” Hope remembered. “We raised around $21,000. It felt like everybody pitched in." The man was able to keep his home.
The close-knit community helped her when she needed it, too. Hope said she struggled with alcoholism fueled by the stress of a divorce and trying to pay the bills while working two jobs as a school bus driver and grocery store cashier.
Her friends and neighbors have supported her through eight years of sobriety. She now helps others with similar challenges.
“When I get teased by everybody about my last name, I say there is always hope. Nothing is ever too far gone that you can’t find a bright side somewhere,” she said. “There’s got to be hope, or why are we even here in the first place?”
HOPE IN AMERICA Yes, hope is still alive and well in this nation
The swingiest of swing states
Michigan’s status among the swingiest of swing states began when Trump flipped the Mitten red when he defeated Secretary of State Hillary Clinton in the 2016 presidential election, winning by just 10,704 votes — roughly two-tenths of 1%, the closest margin of any state in the U.S.
It was cemented in the 2020 presidential election, when former Vice President Joe Biden reclaimed the White House for Democrats, winning Michigan by 154,188 votes.
Though Biden took Michigan in 2020, he wasn’t the top vote-getter in either of the state’s Hope Townships.
That title went to Trump, who snagged about 70% of the votes in Midland County’s Hope (641 of the 914 ballots cast) and 65% in Barry County’s Hope (1,253 of the 1,915 ballots cast).
Although both Stade and Jeanne Hope live in deeply conservative towns called Hope, neither is excited about another Trump presidency.
Stade was uninspired about the idea of four more years of Biden as president, too, but was pleased when Vice President Kamala Harris replaced him on the Democratic ticket.
“I like Kamala very much,” Stade said. “I think a woman president like Kamala would be wonderful because she just shows a lot of potential to make our country a nice country, and bring it back to the people. … For people like me, the working class, she will give us a lot more hope as the president."
As of early September, Jeanne Hope remained undecided about who she'd support for president.
“I’m still trying to figure out what way will be best for this country,” Hope said, voice rising. “And since we can’t turn back the clock, we have to deal with what we have now and that’s who is the lesser of two evils.”
Politics, and the debates that come with it, can be aggravating, she said, adding that it feels as if the country, her community and her family were all better off before Biden took office.
Hope lives with her youngest son, Brad, a county sewer worker, and his wife, Penny, a paraprofessional at a middle school in Delton, and her two grandsons in a three-bedroom house on 2.5 acres.
The family lives on about $80,000 a year, between the county's median household income of $75,182 and the township's even higher median income of $85,284. Still, Hope said they feel the pressure from inflation and the higher cost of groceries.
To help offset expenses, they keep a chicken coop with more than 30 birds that provide so many eggs they give a lot away to family and friends, even though “buying the feed ain’t cheap,” Hope said.
Their property isn’t on the water, so they recently scraped together the money for an above-ground pool.
“We’re neither the haves nor have nots,” Hope said. “We’re somewhere in between. A steak dinner is a privilege. We all watch what we spend.”
'Trying to be optimistic'
Kresta Carpenter works hard, but still can’t make ends meet.
She’s a postal service worker who oversees the tiny, but busy post office in Cloverdale, a hamlet within the bounds of Barry County’s Hope.
The single mother of two boys, ages 9 and 19, said inflation has made it difficult to keep the gas tank in her van full, buy groceries or even find stable, affordable housing.
“It feels like you have to make three times as much money just to buy the basics,” said Carpenter, who is 43. “The costs just keep rising and adding up.”
A few years ago, she could afford to rent a three-bedroom house for $650 a month. But when the owners sold the home, her rent went up, and she couldn’t pay the higher rate.
Carpenter and her boys moved in with an uncle, and then with her mother. Now, they live in neighboring Prairieville with her older sister. She’s grateful her family has been so accommodating and hopes price hikes for everyday necessities will ease.
“I’m hoping. I have no choice but to,” Carpenter said. “It makes me more anxious and nervous to see what’s going to happen. It can get more costly in smaller towns. … I worry about mom-and-pop businesses shutting down that leave us with little options on where to buy stuff.
“I’m trying to be optimistic because it doesn’t help to be so sad, resentful or angry.”
Struggle, division and hope
For some of the challenges in Hope, it won't matter who is in the nation's highest office.
When the dams failed in Midland County’s Hope, Darlene Thompson was in Arizona. “I came home to no lake,” she said.
Thompson wasn’t happy about it, but she’s coped with so much adversity and heartbreak in her 77 years, she could face that setback with calm deliberation.
“Our house didn't get damaged because we were up higher, but there was just no water," she said.
So she did what many others did after the dams failed: "You sell your boats and you sell your pontoons and your jet skis. You sell everything.”
That’s the kind of toughness Thompson had no choice but to forge when her first husband, Roger Klemkosky, died at age 47. Then, she lost a son, Brian Klemkosky, on his 28th birthday.
“When my husband passed away in ’89, I just couldn't stay at the house anymore,” said Thompson, who serves as a park commissioner and park coordinator in Hope. “So I thought, I'll move up to Wixom Lake and I bought a place up here."
When that house burned to the ground, Thompson rebuilt. For years, she co-owned a restaurant called Shirlene’s Cuisine in Midland, finding joy in running the business with her mother, Shirley Tegels.
“My mom was my best friend, my sister, my everything,” she said. “Her name was Shirley and I’m Darlene, so it was called Shirlene’s Cuisine. She got the first half of the name and I got the last half."
Eventually, Thompson sold the restaurant to her surviving son, who went on to run the restaurant about a dozen more years.
She also remarried. And after the dams broke, she and Lewis (Louie) Thompson bought what once was waterfront land on a canal in Hope — and got it at a rock bottom price.
“For $15,000 I got three beautiful lots," she said. They built a single-story, fully accessible house on the land, hopeful they could live out their golden years at the new house, the dams would be restored and water would once again fill the weed-riddled canal in the backyard.
But earlier this year, Louie Thompson entered hospice care. Darlene Thompson acknowledged in late June that he'd been given only a few months to live. She faced the prospect of being left alone again in a home she shared with a husband she loved.
But as summer passed, Louie defied the odds, grew stronger and was able to leave hospice care. He's back by her side at their little house in Hope.
"It is a gift. It's a miracle," Thompson said.
On Thursday, they sat side by side on their living room sofa and a favorite Elvis Presley song came on the TV.
"We were both sitting on the couch, singing, and it made me so happy," she said. "It was beautiful, and we both sang to it because we both knew it. ... I'm just grateful that we do get this extra time."
She wishes other Americans could muster more gratitude for the good things in their lives.
"I am concerned about our country," she said. "It's terrible the way people are acting today. I just wish they could be more grateful, instead of always ... complaining about stuff and calling other people liars and cheats. To me, it's scary. I hate the politics right at the moment. All they do is tear each other down."
'We'll figure it out, one way or another'
Exactly when the water will return to Midland County’s Hope remains an open question.
It’s been four years since the water whooshed away. In its absence, division has sprung up within the community over how to pay for the restoration of the dams and lakes. Progress has been slowed by lawsuits as some residents grapple with the prospect of a new financial hardship to cover the costs.
Boyce Hydro Power LLC privately owned the Edenville Dam when it failed. It filed for bankruptcy protection . Last year, its former operator, Lee Mueller, was ordered to pay almost $120 million in environmental damages.
State and federal grants totaling about $242 million have been funneled toward restoring the dams, lakes and canals. Another $5 million came from private donations, but the cost is expected to far exceed that.
The nonprofit task force Four Lakes Task Force took over administration of the Edenville and Sanford dams along with two others, the Smallwood and Secord dams, which also were damaged in the May 2020 breach. The task force worked with Midland and Gladwin county governments to establish a special assessment zone, which requires property owners to pay $8.8 million over five years for operations and maintenance of the dams, along with $217.7 million over 40 years to pay for repairs and restoration of the dams and lakes.
Depending on the size of the property and water access, the total cost per year for residents is expected to range from $216 to $2,880, according to the task force . The average property owner will pay about $2,160 per year, said Taylor Trapani, a task force spokesperson, which includes both the operations and management assessment as well as the capital assessment.
Thompson's assessment will add up to about $70,000, she said.
"It is a lot," she said, "but we'll figure it out one way or another. God always helps out. ... We don't worry about that kind of stuff because you can worry yourself to death."
The water, she said will "come back, and my property will be worth more when the lake comes back.”
Stade worries how older people, especially, will be able to afford it.
“The assessment is for the next 40 years, so there's a big controversy," she said.
“Some people are trying to fight it, ... saying the state of Michigan should actually be paying for it because it was partially their fault for not controlling the guy who was in charge of the dams.”
Even without legal delays, the best estimate for a return to water on Wixom Lake is August 2027, plus or minus six months, Trapani said.
Doug Hill, president of the Wixom Lake Association, said litigation brought by a small group of residents will only delay progress and drive up costs.
"You have a lot of elderly folks that live around Sanford and Wixom lakes in their 70s, 80s, and even 90s wondering whether we’re going to have the lakes back in time for them to see it.”
Still, Stade remains optimistic.
Rather than fishing and boating, she now spends her summers sewing stuffed Humpty Dumpty dolls, aprons, potholders, and baby blankets, selling them at the Woodside Park farmers’ market.
In the backyard of her log cabin in Hope, an old, blue-bottomed paddle boat leans on its side against a porch post. It’s another reminder of what was lost, and what might be once more.
“The water will come back, and people will start coming back up here again and the economy hopefully will get better,” Stade said. “That's all you can hope for.”
Contact Kristen Shamus: kshamus@freepress.com. Subscribe to the Free Press .
This article originally appeared on Detroit Free Press: In Michigan, amid struggle and division, hope abounds
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