Locals & cottagers take coffee on six benches set before Barb's Bakery, Northport, Michigan. It is customary to bring one owns mug. Often, the chatting visitors nibble on Cherry turnovers, made from locally grown cherries. Admittedly, at least six years ago, I could be found on an odd Sunday morning catching a summertime snooze awaiting open doors at 5 AM, really in preparation for open doors at 6 AM. The manager got in the habit of letting me inside. After staying up to 3 AM in Traverse City, silly to go to an overpriced hotel room when benches and beaches awaited thirty miles north. I hardly vagabond like that now. The bakery stands on cold fast stream that enters the bay at the public beach. Before Dawn, trout work the inlet, visible lurkers eating flies and morsels the stream serves up. The bridge crosses a ravine gouged over time by the stream, sides now planted to grass and safe against erosion. Community groups maintain flower boxes perched on bridge side rails, six to the side. A clear bell peals the invitation to worship that tumbles down a hill just west of me. I am already sitting on what might be called a pew. Sparrows collect offerings of crumbs at the feet of our little gathering.