Hell is a place on earth, my friends. It’s just a quick jaunt away from my hometown, in fact. The tiny town of Hell in south central Michigan – okay, it’s actually considered an unincorporated community – has about 70 inhabitants, and exactly three establishments. In Hell, Michigan you can find the Hell Hole Bar, Hell In A Hand Basket Country Store, and Hell Saloon all in a tidy row along the D-32 county highway.
What to do in Hell Michigan…
When it comes to roadside charm, Hell, Michigan has it all. There’s a big-ass rock that says “welcome to Hell” on it in colored paint. There’s a “greetings from Hell” sign plastered on the wall of the country store. There’s an ever-changing sign bestowing the name of the “Mayor of Hell For The Day.”
There are “gates of Hell” welcoming you to a courtyard with a wedding chapel, a Hellacious love locks fence, and – lest you think Hell Michigan isn’t intentionally kitschy – there’s even a teeny tiny put-put course. All of this is flanked by a gravel parking lot and is about the size of a large backyard. It’s all managed by the warmest bunch of friendly folks you could ever hope for – certainly not the faces you’d expect to see in Hell.
Cities with weird names come with good backstories
Like most cities with weird names, there’s a bit of lore around Hell’s history. There are a few standing theories as to how Hell Michigan got its name.
In one story, two German travelers arrived on a visit to Hell in the 1830s, and locals overheard them declaring that the sunny town was “So beautifully bright!” which translates to So schön hell! Another story supposes that when the town’s founder, George Reeves, was asked what the area should be named, he said “You can name it Hell for all I care.” If you’ve ever experienced a Michigan summer, the third and most simple story probably rings the most true: the theory that early explorers found the wetlands and overbearing mosquitoes to be, well, Hellish.
Honestly, someone should make a drawn out hobby of visiting all the cities with weird names in the US. Looking at you, Nothing, AZ and Satans Kingdom, MA.)
One thing we know for sure is that unlike some places (ahem, Sleep Hollow, New York), the town’s name majorly predates any cleverly thought-up tourism marketing opportunities.
I lived close enough to Hell Michigan as a kid that it was a favorite local play on words, and the town’s various novelty celebrations were a regular fixture on the local news. Halloween parties in Hell? You bet. Want to get married in the winter “when Hell freezes over”? For sure. And oh, you should’ve seen the place on 6/6/06.
Straight from Hell, Born in Hell, Keep Calm and Go To Hell, “we’re going to Hell this weekend”…you get the idea. The jokes were (are) just too hokey to resist. (One of my personal favorites is “Beer In Hell Is Safer Than Water In Flint.”) The local Hell Creek is even marked with a sign asking not to leave any litter nearby because the water is “going through Hell.”
At the country store, which doubles as a visitor’s center and the appropriately named Screams ice cream shop, you’ll be greeted by a cheerful man who props the door open, a Hell coffee mug in hand, decked out in a t-shirt that says “Deported From Hell.” His lovely wife, who hangs out at the counter, hands out Hell exit visas and tells you animated tales about the town’s history. I mean really, could you find a pair of nicer ambassadors?
The other thing? Hell is freaking beautiful. It’s on a country road surrounded by farms and rolling hills and bright green trees. There are rainbow-colored flower arrangements outside the general store and cutesy garden planters in the courtyard. It’s American summer at its finest.
The other thing? Hell is freaking beautiful. It’s on a country road surrounded by farms and rolling hills and bright green trees. There are rainbow-colored flower arrangements outside the general store and cutesy garden planters in the courtyard. It’s American summer at its finest.
You can explore the entirety of Hell Michigan in about twenty minutes. And then you get in your car, exit visa in hand, and drive away along the charming and not-at-all-hell-like countryside. You’ve been to Hell and back. And you can make puns about it for the rest of your life.
