September 1, Saint Ignace
Join thousands of walkers and make the 5-mile trek across the Mighty Mackinac Bridge! Walkers can begin walking at 7am and can start up until 11am. The annual trek across the 5-mile long Mackinac Bridge occurs on Labor Day, the only day of the year pedestrians are allowed on the bridge. Walkers begin in St. Ignace at the north end of the Bridge and walk south. The walk is one-way, and bus transportation is available to return you to St. Ignace until 2:30pm. You can also park your vehicle in the parking lot of the Little Bear East Arena and be shuttled to and from the start line for the bridge walk. For additional information, visit the website link. Info provided by Pure Michigan
"Asinine" ...but kind of awesome:)
June Contest Winners!
CONGRATULATIONS to our three winners for the June short story contest! Phil Gestwicki had 42 votes/likes on his story "The Manitou Flip-off," coming in first place. Rebecca Sinclair had 23 votes/likes for her story "The Empty Kayak," coming in second place. And in third place was Peggy Ankerman with 19 votes/likes with her story "Clementine." Thank you all for your wonderful submissions and we look forward to the July entries soon, more to come on that.
Clementine - by Peggy Ankerman
Clementine, Clem, Clemmer - whatever nickname we chose to give her, she was always there for us while we were growing up-happy, wiggly, homely Clementine.
She was small and wiry, part beagle, part terrier, with bugging-out eyes, and a tail that was always bloody at the tip from wagging it in the prickers.
Clementine loved to climb trees and ladders, quick as a wink, step by step, looking ridiculous. She lived in a large dog run that had an electric wire around the top, so she couldn’t climb out and get hurt on the sharp edges.
Mrs. Brown, Green Grass and Yellow Squash - by Ben Schmidt
Mrs. Brown had the fine distinction of being my babysitter that day. I can see her standing in her farmhouse kitchen with her homemade dress on. Pale, flower print. Sweet lady. Soft smile. Pleasant voice.
My parents were gone for the day. My older brothers and sister were old enough to take care of themselves. I was an eight-year-old town boy in Bellevue, but we had a lot of friends with farms. She and I were the only ones there that day. Her husband was working somewhere. Pretty quiet scene. She said, "Maybe you'd like to go outside for awhile." So I did.
I climbed around on tractors and plows and forged up a mountain of stacked wood, chased a mouse around the yard and swatted a stick-machete against tall field grass
Eventually I plopped down in that bright green grass, and maybe for the first time in my life, sensed, I don't know, a holiness maybe, or the "beauty of nature", or something anyway that was very sweet and peaceful. It was the way the sun shone so bright and hot and at that angle that it only does in mid-August, and how the warm breeze whispered through the grass, tossing it around like waves on an ocean. It stopped me for a minute. Caught my attention.
Then Mrs. Brown called me in for lunch. I ran into the smell of fried, breaded yellow squash. Man, that was good. I had never had it before.
I still love fried squash, and I still wait for those bright, hot, breezy, grass-whispering days in August.
Run Stormy, Run! - by Josh Brugger
Boy Stormy liked to run. Stormy was my husky. Dan the mailman said if he were his he'd take him to Alaska to run the Iditarod. This was at least half true because Dan ran husky's in Alaska. The Iditarod might have been an embellishment. I don't know.
Dad and I took the black handle off the red wagon. We saved it. Later we put it back on. We replaced it with a wooden square 'U' shaped frame. The frame had two eye bolts up front. We bought an Iditarod approved harness and strapped Stormy into it.
For two seasons he would pull me wizzing down the sidewalk, my load of Grand Haven Tribune newspapers in tow. He was good a "Hike," "Gee," and "Haw." He was not good at "Whoa." I wore through the soles of several size 5 Converse All-stars that summer. They made excellent brakes.
At the cabin stormy liked to run and run and run. The cabin was over the bridge, one hour north west near Curtis, Michigan on the little round lake. It was the last hour of the road trip that took us to the cabin. It was actually, very easily, 3 hours. I was 12.
I think it was six hours from the bridge for a husky who liked to run. When we finally passed the Luce County State Park, the sun setting ahead of us, he'd had it with the road trip. We pulled off the road and headed down the two track. Rounding the final bend we jumped out of the car, me and Stormy.
The next time I saw him he was on the back of a pickup truck. He wasn't moving. His tongue was hanging out and his head was upside down. Out front of the cabin I'm sure you can still find the 2x4 cross with the inscription, "Died Runnin'" on it. Stormy loved to run.