Christmas morning found her crying. Her children were gone. Gone across the river, on the mainland with her husband. She had hoped that he would be an ex by now, her ex. But no, he had refused to grant her a divorce. He wanted the children. Mark was 18, he could go where he wanted and he wanted to go to dads'. Carol was 10, Johnny 9 and little Sarah would be 5 next week. Would she see Sarah before her birthday, Would he let her see Sarah on her birthday? He damn sure wasn't going to let the kids see their mother this day, this christmas day 2005. I need a beer she said to the snoring hulk next to her. It farted. Jesus help me, she said to no one in particular as she put her feet on the cold floor. This damn house is always cold. Why did she ever let him talk her into buying this dump. Ow, fuck , she caught her big toe on the doorjam. Limping and cursing she made her way into the kitchen.
CHAPTER 1
It wasn't what they wanted. Definately not what they expected. They had been living on the river for 2 years now. The year before that on a canal in downtown Pearl Beach. Can't say Pearl Beach without thinking of Danny. Official dinoasaur spotter for the hamlet of Pearl Beach. It had been so long since there was a beach in Pearl Beach that no one could remember where, indeed Pearl Beach was, the beach that is. And no one had ever seen a dinosaur, that's why danny took the job. The river was all seawalled now. The mainland side of the north channel had been seawalled for years. The Dickenson Island shore was all johnson, blue tip grass and cattails. It had been seawalled at one, or two times, you could still find the remnants if you brought your boat right up to the shore. The wood did not rot under water. It remained today as it had looked the day it was driven into the riverbottom. 200 years ago Dickenson had been the home of a large pottery business, they had built on the island because of the blue clay that lines the river bottom. The year before, they shared a house with a friend fresh home from the nam. There in pearl Beach, on the canal that drained the woods and marsh on the north border of St. Johns marsh. The year before that they had their first place. It was technically on the river, but it was an apartment and it had no riverview, unless you pressed your head real hard into the bathroom window, then you could glimpse the St. Clair river. So moving into this place was a step in the wrong direction, away from the river. Live here, or anywhere on the water and nothing else will ever do. My family had been on the big island for 150 years. It was engrained in me. I had found three places in the country that were as nice as the flats, at least while i was there. Meaning that I'm sure that they had their nasty days and maybe months, but while I was there they rocked. That was Cumberland Gap, where Tennessee, Kentucky and West Virginia meet. San Diego Ca., and Del Ray Beach Florida, between Lauderdale and Palm Beach. After the apartment, the Pearl Beach canal house, the house behind Kays restuarant, he had found a place to live. Live large. It was the old Meyers estate on the island side of the north channel. The rent was 200 a month and there was an option to buy. It looked across the channel to the marsh downstream from the old Chris Craft plant in Algonac. And it was on Harsens Island. The island had been calling him, forever. It was a grand home. A livingroom 30X30 with windows on 3 sides, not 40 feet from the riverbank. A master bedroom off the livingroom with a huge plate glass window on the riverside and a florida room opposite the livingroom entrance. There was a two car garage with a loft suitable for an apartment, the cooks house just behind the main house and next door, a guesthouse with a bungalow behind and a one car garage. Two lawyers owned it along with more than 20 other other homes on the island. They had split the Meyers estate up with Joe McLaine getting the main house, cooks house, and the two car garage, and his then partner Paul Goldman getting the guesthouse, bungalow and one car garage. Joe had known my family forever, as happens in small towns, so he was happy to rent to us, and we were happy to move in. We rented out the back bedroom, a huge jalousied room to one of our friends, and the cooks house to another. This Paid half our rent. All was well, I had the morning newspaper motor route for the whole island delivering both the Detroit papers, and a good job building the new power plant on Belle River, just 7 miles upstream. Then it abruptly came to a stop. A man came along with 2000 cash and bought the place out from under us. Joe said don't worry, I have 3 other homes on the island empty right now, we'll get you situated here.
The logical choice was the house in town. One was on the river, but had boat access only. Joe Called it the bird house, because of all the birds that had moved in since the last humans had moved out. The staircase was missing, along with the window that the birds were using to get in. And there were the holes. Joe explained that the neighbours had been stealing dirt, a, he said, common practice on out islands in the flats. The other had a flat roof and appeared to be sinking into the marshy ground. So we took the house in town. It had been abandoned for some time, and looked like the neighbourhood kids had been using it for a fort. Windows were broken out, there were holes in the walls, but the yard was dry, and the roof didn't leak.
CHAPTER 1
It wasn't what they wanted. Definately not what they expected. They had been living on the river for 2 years now. The year before that on a canal in downtown Pearl Beach. Can't say Pearl Beach without thinking of Danny. Official dinoasaur spotter for the hamlet of Pearl Beach. It had been so long since there was a beach in Pearl Beach that no one could remember where, indeed Pearl Beach was, the beach that is. And no one had ever seen a dinosaur, that's why danny took the job. The river was all seawalled now. The mainland side of the north channel had been seawalled for years. The Dickenson Island shore was all johnson, blue tip grass and cattails. It had been seawalled at one, or two times, you could still find the remnants if you brought your boat right up to the shore. The wood did not rot under water. It remained today as it had looked the day it was driven into the riverbottom. 200 years ago Dickenson had been the home of a large pottery business, they had built on the island because of the blue clay that lines the river bottom. The year before, they shared a house with a friend fresh home from the nam. There in pearl Beach, on the canal that drained the woods and marsh on the north border of St. Johns marsh. The year before that they had their first place. It was technically on the river, but it was an apartment and it had no riverview, unless you pressed your head real hard into the bathroom window, then you could glimpse the St. Clair river. So moving into this place was a step in the wrong direction, away from the river. Live here, or anywhere on the water and nothing else will ever do. My family had been on the big island for 150 years. It was engrained in me. I had found three places in the country that were as nice as the flats, at least while i was there. Meaning that I'm sure that they had their nasty days and maybe months, but while I was there they rocked. That was Cumberland Gap, where Tennessee, Kentucky and West Virginia meet. San Diego Ca., and Del Ray Beach Florida, between Lauderdale and Palm Beach. After the apartment, the Pearl Beach canal house, the house behind Kays restuarant, he had found a place to live. Live large. It was the old Meyers estate on the island side of the north channel. The rent was 200 a month and there was an option to buy. It looked across the channel to the marsh downstream from the old Chris Craft plant in Algonac. And it was on Harsens Island. The island had been calling him, forever. It was a grand home. A livingroom 30X30 with windows on 3 sides, not 40 feet from the riverbank. A master bedroom off the livingroom with a huge plate glass window on the riverside and a florida room opposite the livingroom entrance. There was a two car garage with a loft suitable for an apartment, the cooks house just behind the main house and next door, a guesthouse with a bungalow behind and a one car garage. Two lawyers owned it along with more than 20 other other homes on the island. They had split the Meyers estate up with Joe McLaine getting the main house, cooks house, and the two car garage, and his then partner Paul Goldman getting the guesthouse, bungalow and one car garage. Joe had known my family forever, as happens in small towns, so he was happy to rent to us, and we were happy to move in. We rented out the back bedroom, a huge jalousied room to one of our friends, and the cooks house to another. This Paid half our rent. All was well, I had the morning newspaper motor route for the whole island delivering both the Detroit papers, and a good job building the new power plant on Belle River, just 7 miles upstream. Then it abruptly came to a stop. A man came along with 2000 cash and bought the place out from under us. Joe said don't worry, I have 3 other homes on the island empty right now, we'll get you situated here.
The logical choice was the house in town. One was on the river, but had boat access only. Joe Called it the bird house, because of all the birds that had moved in since the last humans had moved out. The staircase was missing, along with the window that the birds were using to get in. And there were the holes. Joe explained that the neighbours had been stealing dirt, a, he said, common practice on out islands in the flats. The other had a flat roof and appeared to be sinking into the marshy ground. So we took the house in town. It had been abandoned for some time, and looked like the neighbourhood kids had been using it for a fort. Windows were broken out, there were holes in the walls, but the yard was dry, and the roof didn't leak.
posted by islandbob | 7:00 AM
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