Writer Thomas Wolfe didn’t live to see 40, but he knew about people and their yearnings.
I’ve always called Petoskey my home.
Grew up there. Went to school there as a child. Raised my children there. My mother still lives there. My father is buried there…
I was always drawn to the Bay…my lifeblood. Lake Michigan waters.
But now, my life is 40 miles south, down a dusty, dirty, washboard road.
Worst road north of the 45th Parallel. Perhaps even south.
No sign of water for miles.
I returned to Petoskey this past week to catch up with my best friend, Dort, who was visiting from one state over. The dairy state.
Dort and I were joined at the hip from the first time we met in Junior High.
We were a pair, always together. Dort was the smart one. Always. She still is.
During our high school years, Dorothy ran for Class President.
This past spring, Dort ran for Mayor of LaCrosse, Wisconsin. Some things never change…
But I changed.
I return to Petoskey now and all I see is glitz and glamour.
I long for the days of the waterfront being only for me and my fishing pole (my Back Country Special with my 2052 reel).
Now, folks wander about licking ice cream cones with dogs on leashes, crowding out fisherman and stripping away their solitude.
In my teen years, I was on the “docks” with my unleashed, ever attentive dog, Jezebel. My boyfriend at the time would trade freshly caught trout for pecan pies at a local soda shop.
His mother enjoyed that trade, as she had a large Catholic family to feed. Those pies were a special treat for all.
Now, I am bittersweet about returning home to Petoskey.
I find myself with a 1000 yard stare, longing to get on the road and head back to Russ-Stick Acres, where time truly does stand still.
Away from the hustle bustle.
The crowds of people.
Home is now Mancelona. That little town, named after the daughter of the founder. Mancelona.
Who would have thought I would have moved backward, wanting nothing but solitude and quiet.
It’s good to have a place to call home.
As Thomas Wolfe would say…”Look Homeward, Angel…”
Until tomorrow ~ God willing,
Woodswoman
