The quiet solitude of the UP would seem to be a great place to foster poets and their poetry. One of my favorite poems that I feel like I have experienced myself is Robert Frost's poem "Stopping By the Woods On a Snowy Evening":

Whose woods these are I think I know
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.


This poem makes me think of times when I was skiing by myself in the woods, and I would stop for a moment to just be in the here and now.