Hometown groves
Travelogue, part 3: The streets of Cheboygan feel empty
My hometown is a small, rural place in the northern point of Michigan’s lower peninsula. If you hold your palm up to make the Michigan map — we are on the edge of the middle finger. I’m fairly certain that isn’t an accident.
After going to college, I never moved back. Leaving was always something I knew I would do. It wasn’t a place I felt I could be me. I remember visiting an Aunt who lived in suburban Detroit when I was a kid and felt amazed that there were places in the winter where snow would melt the same day it came down.
Weather aside, I needed bigger places to roam. Being in a place where everyone knows everyone by default exhausted me. Having a place where you can go and be a regular where people know you is nice, but I like it being a choice.
Dad was explaining a back route he takes on the mornings he has to get Winter to school. Why? I asked, because it seemed overly complicated. To avoid traffic, he said matter-of-factly.
The next morning as mom and I took Winter to school, I noted that there were maybe 5 other cars at the light with us waiting to turn. It was the most cars I had seen all morning. I asked mom about it,
Your father is nuts.
