looking back

You can click on some of these photos to enlarge them. I don't know why they all don't enlarge.

Forgive me, this is a long post. It’s mostly for me, a sort of documentation of some childhood memories, so if you skip around, I won’t feel bad.

Yesterday I drove 40 minutes to the small town (pop. 7,813) where I lived from the day I was born until I left for college, except for 5th grade when we moved up north and lived in a depressed and depressing town.

This first shot is of the Baptist church my father pastored for 13 years. The long low annex wing at the right was built on the spot where the first house I lived in stood before being torn down for the building. Years before it was torn down, we had moved into the tan house at the left, which was white back then. We needed more room for the ten of us, and the church bought the house from the rich attorney’s family who lived there.

Do you see how our life even visually was dominated by church?

These are pictures of that second house, where I lived from age 4, I believe, until I was 10.

These steps are the same as in this old photo of me and my siblings (c. 1960?), below. The little one in front is me - yes, the one with the bad perm. But despite the sorry hair, I’d like to bring your attention to the stylin’ matching dress and sweater ensemble. And oh yes, those were velvet shoes. I don’t recall if these are the ones I cut the straps off to make them more stylin as “slip-ons.” Behind me are my three brothers, John, Jim and Bennett, then my three sisters Nancy, Ginnie and Susan, then the oldest bro Nelson. Nelson is 14 years older than I. He left for college when I was 4.

This porch was the center of many family memories. I remember the thrill of watching and listening to many thunderstorms sitting on this porch.

Ours wasn’t the only church within a stone’s throw. Across the street was the Methodist church where they had all the fun. They had dances in the basement. I couldn’t dance. I was a Baptist. Oh, I think they drank alcohol too.

When we moved back to Grand Ledge from the depressing town up north just before my 12th birthday, we moved into the house across the street, photo below. Yes, almost my whole life from age 0-18 I lived in three houses within one small town’s block.

I had spent age 6-10 playing with the boy who lived in this house, Jimmy, who was two years older than me. We used to peer through the French doors into the beautiful living room that had flowered carpet where we couldn’t play. We watched TV in his den, mostly I remember Mighty Mouse, The Lone Ranger and The Three Stooges. When my father bought the house, it was the best day of my life. Did I say it was my 12th birthday? I painted a paint-by-number birthday gift on the floor of my father’s study before any furniture was moved in. Later, in high school, I lived on the 3rd floor with my Thai sister DeeDee. Oh, and besides the eight of us kids, we had a couple dozen foreign students live with us over the years.

These next photos are the landmarks of my little circuit growing up. All these landmarks were within 5 blocks of my house.

1. Fortino’s Party Store (for candy); oh, and see the SUN Theater? We Baptists couldn’t go to movies either. I never stepped foot ONCE in this theater, within one and a half blocks of my house.

2. The dime store (for candy and Barbie doll clothes, the latter looking mostly); it’s now a flower shop.

3. The ice cream store across the bridge (Lickety Split now, used to be Tastee Freez). (There’s a story about this picture, hold on.)

4. The Public Library; I adored sitting here with books, and also checking them out.

5. The US Post Office; my parents were always asking me to mail letters and bills. I never minded the errands that took me to the appealing, cool lobby of the Post Office where the old letter boxes still line the wall, and the 1940 painting by James Calder graces one end.

Ok, the story about the ice cream store and that bridge railing:

My mom sent me to the Post Office to mail two letters she’d spent hours writing. You know, back before computers. She had beautiful, consistent handwriting, it could have been its own font. Anyway, she sent me on this errand to mail her important letters, and I decided to take a detour to the ice cream store first. Now I don’t remember if it was before or after I had my ice cream cone, but I set those important letters down on the bridge railing there (it used to be cement) for some unremembered reason. Please imagine a lovely little breath of wind kissing those letters and tipping them, in slow motion, over the edge, and I, horrified, watching them float down the wind current into the Grand River below, then drift away.

Yes, I told her. And I didn’t die.

Two more stops. Are you still with me?

This is my elementary school. I was a good student and a good girl, a little too good if you ask me. (Like, why did I tell my mother about the letters?) But my kindergarten teacher Mrs. Smith did slap my mouth once for mouthing off. I guess I learned after that. Oh, I saw her yesterday in the café where I ate lunch, my camera around my neck. I decided not to say “hi” again, since I’ve talked with her several times as an adult seeing her around town. I don’t want to keep making her feel bad that she’s old enough to have a student talking to her that she had 46 years ago (I don't know if she'd remember the slap). She looks pretty good, I’ll tell you. She must be at least 70 but she looks 60.

One last stop, the cemetery, everyone’s last stop I guess.

My parents are buried under this stone. And, another short circuit, see our family doctor who delivered me, Fred Garlock is buried just behind them. He was a chain smoker. My dad drew the original pen and ink “hart” (another name for a deer; our name was Hart) for his personal book plate, and then the drawing was used for the headstone design. Dad died in 1995, Mom in 1997.

Oh, and that sweet third brother standing on the steps, Bennett? He died suddenly of arterosclerosis in 1996, the year between their deaths, the day we were all cleaning out our mom's house (she was living in an Alzheimer's home). His high school graduating class of 1968 planted this ornamental tree in his memory by the Opera House over by the river. We planted his ashes under some pine trees at our family cottage.

Thanks if you read this whole thing. It was the first time I’ve done this, gone back and retraced my childhood steps intentionally, probably because I live so close now and take it for granted.

A native of my home town is featured in the new hit movie “Juno” (review at Rotten Tomatoes here ). Paul Baribeau’s name is mentioned, he inspired a verse in Kimya Dawson’s song “Tire Swing” and he even sings a line in the song, which plays after the movie’s beginning credits.

Say “good-bye” to Grand Ledge, looking south across the bridge.