Woke up but 40 miles from the Mackinac Bridge. I was over the bridge by 8am, heading down into the little towns of my childhood. I passed through Petoskey, Charlevoix, Ellsworth and landed in Central Lake. My hometown. My childhood.

I remember our house being beautiful. Dad bought it in rough shape, gutted it, refurbished the place and made it a home. I lived there from five to thirteen. That short eight years seems like a lifetime ago. I have great memories of Christmas mornings, first days of school, neighborhood friends and good times. The fall was especially nice. We had two giant maple trees out front that poured a blanket of leaves down on our front lawn. I remember the smell of them as we jumped in dad�s raked piles. I also remember him yelling at us for jumping in said piles. He�d burn them out in the street.

I passed up my old house this morning and found it very disappointing. Those amazing trees were gone. The beautiful paintjob dad so painstakingly maintained is some sort of yellow siding now. Our front porch that used to wrap around the house has been ripped out and for disjointed additions.

It felt bare and stark. It felt sad. So it goes.

I took a drive around the old neighborhood, up past my elementary school, old hideouts and bike trails. I always try to pass through Central Lake when I can. It seemed so beautiful when I was little.

- - - -

I kept going down through Bellaire, through Alden, down to Williamsburg. Over to Traverse City, through it out to mom and dad�s out in the woods.

Didn�t even unpack. Just headed for the couch.

It’s good to be home. Big meals. Mom. Dad. Leah. Dogs. Leaves. Pumpkin ice cream. Calls from Whitney. Clean clothes. That couch. Hot showers. Big bed.