As I stood in the roadway, looking across the river, (Detroit River) I was reminded of my childhood. I grew up near the water, the Atlantic Ocean.A small fishing village, actually. The difference being, the Detroit River is so full of pollutants, one can develop film in its waters, if you still have that kind of camera.The Atlantic Ocean, where we lived, wasn't quite that bad, although its waters could make a mans balls run up inside of him and hide when first dipping in just waist deep.
The town had a small population, and if you needed knowing anything you could ask the local gossip, or in our towns case, gossips. It was a quiet town, and those people didn't have much else to do, while the men were working.
Most were fishermen who would be gone away for a couple weeks at a time. Their return from sea was both a celebration and a time of worry. The celebration was just the fact they returned safe, the worry came when, or if one of the ladies came up pregnant, and the dates didn't match… There were many "premature" births in our town.An odd coincidence, many of the children didn't quite match their family roots in the looks department.
Life in our little town wasn't so terrible, but as we grew older, we also ran out of things to do. It was this problem that directed many of us into things we shouldn't have been in, drinking, drugs and the occasional road race. Every young man in town was out to surpass the others with a muscle car. I had owned two, but my favourite was my 1968 Plymouth Road Runner.A great car, but after putting 3 clutches in it, I had had enough and sold it for a more practical car.
Most of us eventually grew up realising the error in our ways, got married and settled down, got a decent job, and many of us moved away from our quaint little town. There are still fishermen there, but it isn't the same, once it was wooden ships and iron men, that changed.
Many of the grand antique houses that once were housing families of these men of the sea, have turned into bed and breakfast establishments, many of the wooden ships have been scuttled or turned into a museum. The railway tracks where many of my friends and I would go to sit and drink on a Friday night have been torn out. A lot of the people from old have been replaced by foreigners who came for the peace and quiet.
No matter how much that little town has changed or how many of the faces have grown old, and how many friggin tourists come to that little town, to those and me that grew up there, it will always be my friends my home! No matter where I am, Home is that little town, with all it's beauty, it's people, and the memories I will hold forever.
*all photos from Pixabay
