Bill's New Book

I have a new book!

 

Letters From Roscommon took me about ten years to write as it consists of a series of letters that I wrote to friends and family after moving to Roscommon, Michigan. I chose to re-work and publish 34 letters that focus on my observations of life in and around our county, although I suppose they could have been written about your town or any place else for that matter. Here is a sample, chapter 18, My Colorful Neighborhood.

 

My Colorful Neighborhood

 

Dear Friends:

 

It occurred to me the other day that I have never told you about my neighborhood and the folks who live here. Since several of you haven’t yet visited here, I decided I had better tell you about the neighborhood before you come so’s you won’t be frightened when you do get here.

As you know, a large share of Roscommon County is forested and my neighborhood is no exception. My neighborhood consists of a thin layer of houses that hold back the forest on either side of a road that wends its way to the single nearby business that is on the main road, the party store.

The road winds from the party store, past my house until it disappears in the forest and circles back on itself for no particular reason. From the party store to the circle in the woods is a little more than one mile, a perfect distance for a morning walk. On my walks, I regularly see many of my neighbors and I wave to one and all. My waving has provoked several brief encounters and a few longer visits that have yielded a treasure trove of information about those who live nearby. Like any treasure trove, some of the pieces are better than others. In the case of my neighbors, some are more interesting and more colorful than others.

Sadly, in the short time of my residence here, we have lost a couple neighbors. Betty Hoover has left due to old age and general orneriness while Big-Breasted Bertha passed on due to her weakness for the frothy brew that she bought regularly at the party store. Betty was a transplanted hillbilly who served as the neighborhood police, gossip control officer, and caretaker of Roscommon moral standards. Bertha’s appearance and drinking habits led her to become the most colorful for several years running according to Betty.

With the recent departure of the two women, two men have risen to take over the mantel as our most colorful characters: Bicycle Bill and One-Armed Amos. Both are north woods men through and through. Bicycle Bill has a slight a mental deficiency, although that doesn’t count for much in the neighborhood. More important is Bill’s penchant for riding his bicycle winter and summer, through rain and sleet and snow, even though the snow may be a foot or two deep in the middle of the road during some winters.

Bill rides to the party store every day where he picks up his supply of beer. He stops frequently along to way to pick up any empties he happens to find to recoup some of his money via the bottle deposit. Bill and I are in competition to see who can find the most empties along the road, but I suspect he has an edge on me since he is recovering some of his own bottles and he can cover more ground on his bike than I can by walking.

Bicycle Bill and One-Armed Amos pretty much look alike except for Amos’s one arm. Both wear full beards, stocking hats much of the year along with hunting coats and camouflage pants when there is a hint of cold [about ten months of the year]. Actually, their wardrobe is like that of many of us Roscommon men so there is nothing to be gained in this description.

One-Armed bases his claim to the title of ‘Most Colorful’ by his unequaled delight in making jokes about his one arm. Recently, he had a large cast wrapped around his one good arm with only his fingers visible. He explained that he had received treatment for carpal tunnel. He nodded at his good arm with the bandage, “I’m getting this removed next week.” He waited a moment, then added with a grin, “Not my arm, just the cast.” On another occasion, Amos warned a young boy not to pet my little dog Marshall. “I tried it once and this is what happened to me,” he said, as he held up his stub.

The houses in the neighborhood are diverse from year-round homes like mine to small cabins that are used mainly by hunters. The two houses on the circle in the woods are owned by two brothers who used to run a saw mill in their backyard making pallets and lumber. The brothers are now retired and they closed their saw mill after the wind blew the roof down. They still have piles of lumber in their back forty and a pile of sawdust about the size of the Mount of Olives.

Next to my house are three cabins used only occasionally. Each sits in a wooded lot that abuts a swamp. One has indoor plumbing while the other two boast ‘a path to the bath’ – a local description of a cabin whose outdoor toilet sits atop a hole in the ground. Beyond those temporary abodes is a permanent home of a recently retired man who lived an entire winter in a small trailer while his house was being re-built following an invasion of black mold. I continue to hope that black mold is not contagious since my house is not too far distant from his.

Next to the black mold house is more forest, two ordinary houses and then the last house on the road that is owned by my retired friend (he is not particularly different than most with his beard, camo, and stocking hat) who fishes most days of the year. When he isn’t fishing, he and I meet at the party store for morning coffee after my walk. We are often joined by Amos, but never by Bicycle Bill since he is too busy drinking to sit idly and complain about the weather and poor fishing. We are often joined at the party store by two friends who teach at the nearby college.

Although they are both interesting, neither rises to the level of most colorful so I’ll dispense with more information about them except to say that one is a man with two first names and the second teaches math and computers. (I suspect he is not to be trusted.) The man with two first names teaches something about plants and he knows all about Stinkhorn, a smelly fungus that grows in the forest around me. I don’t know what else he teaches or what else he knows, but if something stinks in the woods, he is the man to see.

 

So, there you have it, a complete description of my neighborhood and it’s characters so you’ll recognize it in case you stop by for a visit. See ‘ya real soon.

 

 

Grandpa Bill

                                  

If you are interested in this latest linguistic adventure, the paperback book is available at Amazon.com for $8.95 or, if you are into low costs like me, it can also be obtained on your Kindle for $2.99. Alternatively, if we live nearby, give me a shout and I can obtain a copy for you at a lower shipping cost.