The driveway to the house on Drummond Island.
Standing next to a tree in the forest where my cousin Adam built a ladder 30 years ago.
The forest outside the house.
Hiking on land that was recently sold. The stones in the center are ruins of an old building.
The meadows between the trees are full of wildflowers and butterflies.
Choir practice on the peninsula.
Tables and chairs at the community center, waiting to be dressed for the senior luncheon.
A woodburning stove heats the house through the winter.
All the firewood must be chopped by hand.
A pile of wood lined up in front of the house.
My Uncle Alan, who lives on the same land, also keeps a large store of firewood for winter.
Alan at work in the mill.
Gerald’s collection of handtools.
Plants he started himself from cutting adorn the windowsill.
In the 40’s, Gerald worked on the Alaskan railroad.
He keeps books of trains, having noted in the margins the sorts of work he did on similar engines.
My strongest childhood impressions of my grandparents is their association with the garden they kept.
Years ago, my grandparents were part of a conservation society. One of their roles was to memorize recordings of the calls of different sorts of frogs, then come to this pond and record what they’d heard.
On a bridge over the pond with Micah the dog.
The Maxton Flats, carved by glaciers.
A backroad on Drummond Island.
Gerald and Micah.
Gerald at the Pictured Rocks in Michigan.
I was seven years old when my family left Michigan for the west coast, so most of my memories of my grandparent’s house on Drummond Island in Michigan are seeped in the fog of childhood nostalgia. In 2012, during a cross-country railway trip, I finally had a chance to visit again. Gerald (pronounced Gare-ald) is my last living grandparent and a treasure of stories and fascinating information on geneology, the island, and his time spent on the Alaskan railroad in the 1940’s.