Home | Blog | Search | RSS | Contact
Up to the left takes you to the family farm. Go down to the right and you'll pass my Aunt Pauline's place on the left with family property on either of side of the road and then on to the other homes in the neighborhood. (2007)
Been busy. Been travelin'.
Spent all of last week in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. Though I'd much rather visit in the summer, I still had a great time visiting my mom and dad and rest of the family. Shannon and Alex came up from Ohio and we had a great time.
Your image of the moment shows you the fork in Valley Road just outside the “city” limits of Negaunee, Michigan, where if you go up the hill you'll discover the old family farmhouse and red barn.
Lots more pictures to come.
My book begins with this description of my visits to The Farm:
My earliest bliss was found in my visits to Mummu (pronounced moo-moo), my father's mother. Driving the last few miles to Mummu's house, down the familiar, quiet streets of Negaunee, Michigan, was like dialing a combination into my soul. Sometimes we'd drive along Teal Lake, but most of the time we'd just cut down through the neighborhood. Either path would take us past the large -- bigger than a house large -- town water tank and around the curve to the left where the Batman gate was. Whenever I saw that simple metal gate and the twin threads of dirt road it guarded, it reminded me of the beginning of the old Adam West TV show where you see the Batmobile come screaming out of the woods and onto the road. Just a little bit farther and we'd turn left onto Valley Road and the butterflies in my stomach would crescendo with fluttering excitement.
Then we'd come around the curve and I'd see it. The dirt road veering up to the left while the main road continued down to the right. As the wheels of our car hit the dirt and gravel, we angled up through the trees and the plink-a-dink rhythm of small stones striking the undercarriage of our car was a song I knew by heart. And the ending always the same...
Mummu rushing out of the white farmhouse, across the hard rock to our car, taking me in her arms and telling me how much she missed me and loved me. Pancakes and sausage every morning for breakfast. The hustle and bustle of a family home -- headquarters for our clan of aunts and uncles, brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers, cousins and friends. And more I'm sure I couldn't possibly begin to name.
Permalink | Comments | Trackback