Eclectic Amateur

(Continued from Part 2…)

Morning was crisp and clear, with a hint of frost on the grass and fog on the breath.  Doug was up early, before Michael but not before Mom.  For the hundredth time, he wondered how, no matter how early he got up, at least one of his parents would make it to the kitchen first.
“Good morning, Doug.  Ready for your big trip?  I made you some lunch.”  A carefully-wrapped sandwich, some apples, and a small jug were set out on the counter.
“Thanks, Mom!  Yeah, I’m really ready for this.  It’ll be exciting to get into the big city.”
“Ontonagon isn’t that big of a city,” she laughed.  “Don’t get your heart too set on Houghton – your grandfather might actually be able to fix that crazy thing.”
“A guy can dream, can’t he?  What’s that, oatmeal?  Here, I’ll stir and you sit down.”  With a look of gratitude, Mom stepped aside from the wood stove and sat down at the kitchen table.  “Maybe.  But I think it fried pretty good – I could smell it from 30 feet away when it blew, and what I heard from Dad on the phone with Grandpa didn’t sound good.”
Doug gave a big stir to the pot and slid it to a cooler part of the stovetop, then rummaged around the spice shelf a bit.  “OK if I use some cinnamon?”
“We need that for the holiday baking.  Just use some maple syrup and the old apple dices.”
“All right.”  Doug found the jar with the bits of dehydrated apple and added some to the pot, stirring and returning it to the heat.
Mom sat in quiet for a few minutes.  Outside, they could hear the animals starting to stir as the sun rose.  George the rooster crowed, then did it again about five or six times, coming closer and closer to the house.  The last time was close enough under the kitchen window that they both jumped.
“And just maybe, we’ll have some chicken dumplings when you get back.”

After wolfing down some oatmeal, Doug was ready to go.  He grabbed his lunch, his bob of clothes and travel essentials, and the packet of mail to drop off at the post office in Green.  They had loaded the power supply onto the buggy the night before.  Doug made sure to grab some cull apples for Jimmy and Jerry.
“All set?” Dad asked.  “I expect to hear from you when you make it to town.  Give us a call when you get there, then let us know when you know whether you’re coming back here or going on.  Your grandfather will help make arrangements if you do need to go to Houghton.”
“Will do.  Thanks, Dad.”
“Take care.  And Godspeed.”

Cranberry Rivers Road was almost a straight line from the gate of Twin Springs down to the Lake, and well-maintained.  The horses knew the way well, which let Doug steal a few moments here and there to enjoy the fall color.  The land here sloped gently down from the Trap Hills behind him to Lake Superior, which allowed a view for miles of forest broken with a few fields.  The bright yellow of the popple had almost passed, but the oaks and hickories still had their palettes of dark red-orange-yellow on display, highlighted against the green of pine and hemlock.  Patches of sugar maples added highlights of bright red to the display, and he could make out the whitecaps on blue water beyond it all.
The road ended in Green, where he dropped off the outgoing family mail with the postmaster, promising to pick up the incoming mail on his return.  After that, it was Lakeshore Highway along the coast into Ontonagon.  He drove the team to his grandparent’s home near the east edge of town, and found Grandma outside hanging laundry.  “Doug!  So good to see you.  Go ahead and stable those boys around back, and I’ve got a little something inside for you.”  After taking care of the horses, Doug walked around to the back door.  The house smelled like baked apples and pasties.  It was always good to visit Grandma – she considered grandchildren an excuse to show off in the kitchen.  Doug didn’t mind.

(Concluded in Part 4…)