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Chapter 44
- Northern Illinois University Press
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c H A P T e R F o R T Y - F o U R i found something out early on when i first started writing in my journal that Uncle George gave me, something i’ve realized now about my life: without these words, I cannot exist. Kachina would not agree. Kachina used to say that i write because we chemokmon have no sense of family and therefore no one worth talking to. We’ve scattered like so much chaff in a high wind. We leave first, she says. in our hearts. later we just move. Maybe she’s right. But the words matter. i cHANGe iNTo deNiM PANTS andablueflannelshirt.chilly this time of night on the island. The stiffness in my bones makes it difficult to pull pants over my hips, but i do. Then i pull white canvas shoes over gray wool socks and tie them. Will Kachina be glad to see me? She’s always been hard to read. Another of the unanswered questions of my life. There are answers i feel entitled to. i wonder what possessed me to think i should pack it all in and move back here? i think of Uncle George and how he said it was A GOOD HIGH PLACE 227 all about pain, how cap had spent his whole life trying to avoid it. And how i had, too. i’m tired of the numbness, the palliatives the world finds so attractive. But moving back can’t possibly be a move forward? it suddenly seems ridiculous. i’ll call Ken in the morning and have him take my house off the market, i think. i grab my knapsack, put some tobacco in it, the red flannel nightgown i brought for Topini, the remainder of the blueberries, a wooden bowl, and the bottle of irish whiskey i’d needed a sip from all day. River Street stretches west through town, and the eight o’clock shadows drop off into the bay. The street winds around next to it for a while, past the cemetery, then joins up with US-31, crosses Yuba creek, and heads south to Traverse city—roads that now provide elk Rapids access to the world. How would this generation feel about growingupwearingbloomersandknickers,usingwoodstovesforheat, kerosene lanterns or candles for light, horses, steamboats, and trains for transportation, then adjusting to the industrial age with electricity, radios, TVs, automobiles, jet planes, and flights to the moon? i walk out to the field next to the cemetery and pick a handful of wild yarrow, put the stalks into the knapsack, and draw it tight, with the flowers sticking out the top. The island sits out in the water just far enough to call it an island, nestled between the bay and the inlets where the elk River dumps into it. i step into one of the two rowboats that Keane keeps on each side, put my sack in the bottom of the boat at my feet, and start rowing. The night is brisk, the moon waxing, and the breeze is enough to remind me to row. The songbirds are calling it a night, though cries of gulls and whip-poorwills fill the air, mixed with the strident chorus of frogs and crickets. i wave away a mosquito that insists on whining in my ear. i can hear a dog barking as my boat approaches the shore. The island is lined on the village side by a mixture of willows, cedars, and other conifers. it’s open toward the bay side. There is, though, a small maple grove to the north of the house that provides a buffer from the wind. The house faces west and has a maple or [54.145.183.34] Project MUSE (2024-03-29 10:48 GMT) 228 L.E. Kimball two planted in front to protect the house from the afternoon sun. i step out of the boat and head for the house when i’m met by a wary mongrel, male, this one another gray-brown shepherd variety. i’m about to step back in the boat when i hear Kachina call him. Wagi, come. The dog backs off, and i can see Kachina walking toward me. How was your dinner? Kachina asks. She’s changed into brown denim pants and a rust-colored wool sweater. Several rows of turquoise beads line the neckline as always. The beads are assorted shapes: round ones, long cylindrical ones, some horizontal, some vertical, some crescent shaped...