I spent my lunch hour across the blueberry row from my dad, pruning out snow-damaged branches to make room for new growth. Such nice conversation, especially listening to him share stories about a community member who died recently, who was so kind to him, as an employer, as a friend, as someone whose roots to this area are deep, welcoming in my transplant hippie-looking dad, inviting him to rebuild an old tractor in his bus garage, offering knowledge and tools that my dad had yet to obtain himself.
Driving home (back to work) on Star, I see Tommy Jo stop his car on the road. What's he stopping for? I think and then we wave at each other as I pass and he turns up Andi's driveway and I realize he just stopped so he could wave at me. So we could have that moment of connection before continuing on with our days. I often share my gratitude for living where we do. For the trees and water and dirt roads. Today I need to share my gratitude for those who create the community of this place. For every Harold Maki and Tommy Jo.
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AuthorsMagdalen Dale and Kaite Sweval grew up a layer apart, overlapping and paralleling. Belonging to the shores of Lake Superior and yet not quite belonging. Laughing and dreaming on the bench outside the ferry booth as Mag passed the time and Kaite chose her time. Left to explore as soon as they could. And then as adults returned home, perhaps to their surprise. But glad to have each other... ‘cause we know there is strength in the differences between us and comfort where we overlap. Archives
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