In Kingsley, the doors opened and a woman and her man departed the bus and loaded their luggage into the trunk of an idling Pontiac from the early 1990s, a backwoods buggy as signature of this area as the conch cruiser is to Key West. We had dropped off a man at the Cadillac Transit Center, and he settled into the bus shelter the way a man gets comfortable in a hotel room after check out.
On M-113, I began spotting stacks of bee boxes, two tracks through the meadow grass leading toward the portable apiaries. I felt an admiration for the farmers, raising vegetables out of the soil of the Grand Traverse Country and engaging the bees to collect a fraction of the sweetness engendered by that land now sunny with summer. I anticipate, although much of the land is given to cedar, these stewards of the land have maple syrup to sell through Boyd's in the fall.
I need to send a text. I think I just saw my sister and her family get out of their backwoods buggy in the parking lot of the Traverse City House of Prayer.