Blog

My conniving begins long before our Detroit departure. We want to walk the lane to the house and to the once existing barn. "I'll go up with you if you want". No way would I have the courage to go alone. The slight incline, a couple hundred feet to the porch feels like miles. I should take in the entire view, yet fear brings tunnel vision to the side porch. No cellphone in my pocket so I cannot even sneak a snapshot. Too presumptuous anyway. While listening for attack dogs, I anticipate the words I plan to offer as I tend to ramble when nervous. My protection is a foot taller than me, and I pull myself as straight as I can while we journey up the dirt driveway armed with our bribe, useless if the recipient isn't interested. Normally I reserve this maneuver for thugs and preschoolers. All we want is to pad around the property: no damage, no food or drink expectations, just a chance to feel the space where our grandmother was raised. Matt stays at the base of the stairs as I climb. Big door is open, a Ring doorbell is mounted. Trying not to irritate, I knock softly. No one ever hears my knocks. Nothing. Patiently I wait mumbling nothing of importance to Matt just to pass the time. Nothing. After placing my package on the table, I descend the stairs and solemnly we walk back to the car. Will the dogs attack now? Will the shots be fired now? Too much imagination, but I feel much safer in the city than on a lone country road with nondescript borders. Oh yes, we did see the border. A long note about who I was and what I wished along with a painting of the long-ago barn is addressed to the "Laatz relative". Maybe they don't even like paintings. I sign the letter with my usual smiley face. Maybe I caught them at nap time and by morning we will have an invitation to see the back forty. Home again and no contact, though I am still hanging on for a part two to this story.