He woke up in this old empty farmhouse somewhere in Minnesota, up on the second 
floor, in a bedroom curled up in his sleeping bag, and upon opening his eyes, he immediately wondered where the summer went, and how he would arrive back at Marquette in time for his first class the next morning.
floor, in a bedroom curled up in his sleeping bag, and upon opening his eyes, he immediately wondered where the summer went, and how he would arrive back at Marquette in time for his first class the next morning.He had taken summer graduate classes up at a small university in the north country, sublet an old house a few miles out in the country, worked for a poor farmer at a poor farm, met
some cool people, drove sand roads between small fish filled lakes, fished those lakes, met girls at the town tap, took his dog to the dairy queen, read, planted a garden, listened to an orange crate of someone else’s albums, played the harp, didn’t do laundry, drank beer, drank more beer, was rarely lonely.
some cool people, drove sand roads between small fish filled lakes, fished those lakes, met girls at the town tap, took his dog to the dairy queen, read, planted a garden, listened to an orange crate of someone else’s albums, played the harp, didn’t do laundry, drank beer, drank more beer, was rarely lonely.Classes over and he was “all in” on the road, with two weeks and a new friend who wanted to ride his bike while hanging onto the back of the 76’ Chevy Luv truck, while ripping up the back roads into Canada, looking for something and hoping we don’t find it, which would cause us to stop, and that was 
not in the plan, till they reached back in the states and stopped at night in Grand Portage, only to climb the 10’ stockade fence of the old forte, now a tourist stop, where he caught his flannel on the top spike and just hung there till his friend cut him down, laughing harder than ever, and sitting at the base of the fence, in the cool moon lit grass, watching his friend immediately pull a needle and thread from his pack and mend the shirt he called his favorite, he was weird like that, and all the time still laughing.
not in the plan, till they reached back in the states and stopped at night in Grand Portage, only to climb the 10’ stockade fence of the old forte, now a tourist stop, where he caught his flannel on the top spike and just hung there till his friend cut him down, laughing harder than ever, and sitting at the base of the fence, in the cool moon lit grass, watching his friend immediately pull a needle and thread from his pack and mend the shirt he called his favorite, he was weird like that, and all the time still laughing.Somehow, after a nine mile hike and nine night and days at the base of Pigeon Falls, while losing nine pounds from poor provision planning, they made it out and further down the highway, where finally they eat 
and drank around nine beers each, LaBatts it was, while his friend mumbled something about having a father, who also had a father, who had a farm not too far off, nine miles or so he thought, which had been abandoned for, yes, nine or 10 years, but didn’t remember for sure, so when he woke up, he rolled up his sleeping bag, smelled the end of summer in the air, stopped for coffee, and headed for Milwaukee.
and drank around nine beers each, LaBatts it was, while his friend mumbled something about having a father, who also had a father, who had a farm not too far off, nine miles or so he thought, which had been abandoned for, yes, nine or 10 years, but didn’t remember for sure, so when he woke up, he rolled up his sleeping bag, smelled the end of summer in the air, stopped for coffee, and headed for Milwaukee.
