Petoskey
One never knows who might show up at the condo. One year there were seventeen people stuffed into the three bedrooms. Three people slept on the porch.
Recipe for a Michigan Summer
Carefully examine relatives for non-swimmers and set these aside for later use. Wrap swimmers in bathing suits and grease liberally with sunscreen. Use SPF 20 or higher.
Talking Bird
My bird tried to fly away last week. JJ lives inside a cage inside a house, and I feel bad for him and his wings because it must get a bit cramped behind the iron bars.
Body Burden
A few paper sacks on the wrong truck inflicted environmental and physiological damage that Michiganders are still trying to sort out three generations later. God–what else are we doing to ourselves?
Dermacentor variabilis
Two more ticks joined the swimmer in the bowl. We flicked an intruder into an empty pasta sauce container and scrawled “Tick Jar” across the glass in Sharpie.
Binary Sea
Don’t tell anyone this, but last year I dreamed of being in middle-of-nowhere-Michigan while wandering the beautiful streets of the El Barrio district in Barcelona.
Common Ground
We park up against the failing fence near the bathrooms. We get out of the car, feel our feet on ground, and keep talking. A lot has come before us here.
The Longest Distance
When I wake up in the middle of the night, the first thing I do is check my legs. Often, during the night, I kick off my covers and wake up with my legs cold to the bone.
Sitting In the Aisle
You don’t talk to people on the Metro. You don’t talk to coworkers, you don’t talk to friends, and you especially don’t talk to strangers. Talking is the mark of the tourist.
Longing for Roots
So what do I have? I have my ancestors. I can’t visit them, anyway—most are long dead—so distance doesn’t matter. Still, though, this litany of names acts as a sort of symbolic rootedness.
