Quietness

Gladys and I are puppy-sitting for a friend.  Mr. Man's pretty little, only eight weeks old at the most.  He's so little that he still thinks we are giant dogs with funny barks.  Now that he is a little more comfortable with us, I am hoping he will sleep better.

Until then, I find myself awake with a squirming puppy trying to calm him down so Gladys can get some sleep.  Our loft is surprisingly quiet.  I hear the motor of the ceiling fan above me grind out each rotation.  Every time the roof creeks, it seems to echo through our house.  Each drip from our faucet can be heard from 20 feet away.  The streetlight shines pretty brightly into our space.  The occasional car drives by our building and every so often, you can hear a vehicle speed past as they rush to the nearby hospital.  Detroit, in it's own odd way, reminds me of the farm.

Our house was on the back 40 acres of the farm, which tended to be loud during the summer with the crickets and frogs in the pond near the house keeping watch all night.  At Ema and Gumpy's, the light between the house and the barns illuminated every room.  Occasionally a high school kid in his souped up Chevelle would race by the house but more often it was the steady drone of someone else on their way to work in Lansing.  The farmhouse, built in the late 1800's, had it's own set of creaks and groans that kept absolute silence away.

Detroit seems to have this pull on me that I do not always understand.  The obvious flaws are painfully evident and people seem to love to bury the beauty that can be found here.  Despite occasional misgivings and fleeting thoughts of leaving, I have found my level here.  I have found a community where I can raise my family and keep my loved ones nearby.  Even though Detroit is my home, I am always from Vermontville.  It will always be my hometown, the place I couldn't leave fast enough and now work my tail off to try recreating.

In some ways, I think that is how Gumpy felt.  When he met my grandmother, they were living in a rural farming community in southern Michigan called Waldron.  The village had its own song that he liked to sing.  He kept up with his friends in town and liked to visit the often.   He use to make his kids roll down the windows or get out of the car when they crossed the county line so they could take a nice, deep breath of clean Hillsdale County air.  Life wasn't always easy in Waldron, but his outlook on his hometown was always positive.  

Gumpy had a lot of pride in where he was from, but lived most of his life on the farm Ema was raised on in Vermontville.  He found his level there.  A place to raise a family, a place to keep the ones he loved close by.  A community where he could make an impact and a church he could believe in.

I think I share a lot of things with Gumpy.  I have pride in where I am from, even though I seem to know fewer people each time I am in town.  Life was not always easy in Vermontville, but my outlook on my hometown has changed.  I don't know if I could ever live there again, I have become citified.  Yet, I admire the work ethic and the neighborliness of Vermontville.  When Gladys and I do have kids, I hope they appreciate the smell of fresh Eaton County air!