Uncle Johnny's house was everything I thought it would be when we left for our little road trip. It was idyllic, almost Rockwellian. And he had already achieved a revered status based on what my Irish friend had told us. Quit his job as a teacher in Chicago to move north and sing Irish tunes and fix sailboats. His home was an old farmhouse. It was amazing to look out the window and see rolling fields of grain stretching up and down on little glacial formed hills. Especially at twilight, when the colors become indistinct and they become just a shadow travelling back in forth in the wind.
Honestly, that is what I remember most clearly. We went and saw him perform at a hotel bar in Harbor Springs, and i do believe he sang the Ballad of the Edmund Fitzgerald, as well as some rousing anti-English songs. We were only eighteen, so it was pretty exciting to be hanging out in a bar. We ate dinner at his house with his wife and two little girls and he regaled us with funny stories for much of the night. What a great time!
We were all feeling unstoppable by the time midnight rolled around. What to do? How about a trip to the UP? Sure, why not. Our original goal was to just cross the bridge and come back. Talk about stars aligning. As we were crossing the bridge (on a windy, wavy night, so that the bridge swayed back and forth) Bridge Over Troubled Water by Simon & Garfunkel came on the radio. Amazing.
Alas, after we crossed the bridge we were too encouraged to turn back, so off we went to the west along highway 2 to see what we might find. To the ghost-peninsula.....
No comments:
Post a Comment