We Never Meant to Own a Campground.
The story of how an accidental discovery became something we can't imagine living without.
We Were Looking for a Quiet Place Up North.
We were looking for a place up north. Nothing fancy — just somewhere our grandkids could run around in the woods, catch a fish, sleep under the stars, and grow up understanding what Michigan is really about. We looked at a handful of properties, but nothing quite fit. Then this one showed up.
There was a photo of a small red log cabin surrounded by trees. A pole barn. State land stretching out behind it. Two lakes nearby. It checked every single box.
So we drove up to take a look.
The first thing we noticed poking out of the snow — an old campground hookup box, silent for twenty years.
The Cabin Wasn't a Cabin.
When we arrived, we walked up to that charming little red log building in the trees — and discovered it wasn't a cabin at all. It was a bathhouse. For a campground that had been closed for over twenty years.
Everything had grown over. Nature had overtaken the place. We didn't think much of it at the time. The property was beautiful, the land was right, and the pole barn turned out to have a cozy two-bedroom home tucked inside it — small, but full of possibility.
It was winter. Snow covered everything.
We bought it.
The little red building through the pines — charming, mysterious, and definitely not a cabin.
Spring Has a Way of Revealing Things.
As the snow melted that first spring, the old campground began to emerge from the ground like something out of a dream. Power boxes. Water spigots. A gravel lane curving through the trees. Twenty campsites, still laid out and waiting, silent for two decades.
We called the state to learn more. They told us the campground had closed in good standing — and that if we ever wanted to reopen it, we'd just need an inspection. So, being a family of entrepreneurs, we talked it over around the table.
Everyone thought it could be a great adventure.
Everyone except Sue.
Sue just wanted a quiet getaway up north. But she's a good sport. "Whatever everyone decides," she said, "I'm in."
"Whatever everyone decides — I'm in."
— Sue Hankerd
A $179 Check Changed Everything.
The state inspector came out. We held our breath and turned on the power and water. Everything worked. All twenty sites — full hookups, water, sewer, electric. The bathhouse: fully functional. The inspector filled out his report, told us the fee was $179, and handed us the paperwork.
John wrote the check.
And just like that, we were campground operators.
We had absolutely no idea what we were doing. So we decided to run it the only way that made sense to us: we treat every guest like family and friends coming to visit. There's a personal golf cart tour when you arrive. A handmade wooden plaque with your name and hometown waiting at your site. Pancake breakfasts, campfires, bocce tournaments — nothing scheduled, everything spontaneous.
The family rolling up their sleeves — hauling brush, transplanting young pines, and bringing the campground back to life one weekend at a time.
We Still Can't Believe It's Ours.
We came looking for a family getaway. We found something better — a place where other families, couples, and four-legged adventurers can slow down, breathe fresh air, and remember what Up North is all about.
Every weekend since, we've been out here making improvements, planting roots, and falling more in love with this little piece of northern Michigan woods.
Sue still gets her quiet. Most of the time.
Welcome to Hankerd's Horseshoe Lake Campground. We're so glad you found us — even if we found it all by accident.
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