Had a thunderbolt struck near me, I couldn't have been more alarmed. It suddenly dawned upon me that having been surrounded by native Tennesseans (may God bless those that bear that honorable appellation), an inevitable adoption of the traits and mannerisms so prevalent amongst its native inhabitants had begun to silently encroach upon my person. In essence, I was slowly and unconsciously becoming one of them again, or more precisely, certain characteristics that had laid dormant for so long since the time of my humble origins as a snake wrangler were awakened and had begun to resurface. Most alarming of these mannerisms were the way certain words and expressions subtly crept back into my vocabulary. Words like "You all" and "Isn't" were replaced by "Y'all" and "Ain't". Expressions like "How unfortunate" or "This is not what I had anticipated" became "Dag-nab-it" or "Gosh dang-it". "I do not care" was replaced by "I don't give a lick o' beans". Expressions like "I respectfully decline your offer, thank you." were replaced by "I don't reckon I'd give a dad-gum bag o' blue bred chickens for that". And on, and on.
Anyways, it was thus clear that I was decidedly in need of some good ol' northern exposure. Perhaps, those Yankees would set me straight, I thought. And what better pretext to head north than a certain Melanie Elie's wedding, set to take place at 4 pm, July 9th in Ypsilanti, Michigan? None that I can think of. So, bidding farewell to ol' Tennessee, I removed my coonskin cap, placed my tobacco pipe and shotgun in a specially locked compartment, and proceeded to embark upon a journey which would last nearly a fortnight. Below is a rough sketch of my journey:
And so, leaving behind the rollings plains of middle Tennessee, northbound on that interstate system I drove, that system which, if viewed from space, might appear as a giant spider web sprawling over the landmass with little tangles of webs representing every major city. After 8 hours of traversing the fields upon fields of Kentucky bluegrass, which gradually become the fields upon fields of Indiana corn, I dismounted my vehicle in the northern Indianian driveway of a certain "Aunt Carla", or so shall she be called here. After enjoying a delightful chat and a splendid meal prepared by her own hands, I continued the long, arduous trek until I reached Ann Arbor, Michigan (or, more precisely, Ypsilanti) where it just so happened the wedding was set to take place. Here, I was reunited with old friends and familiar faces, some of which the reader may even recognize as the "Duke of Seoul" Luke Elie, as well as "The Benevolent Baron" Reuben Haggar (pictured below), two of the finest specimens of the human genus to be found. Melanie Elie (Luke's cousin and my former piano player on the music team in Korea) and a certain fellow by the name of Brian Herman were thereby joined in holy matrimony, and the festivities commenced. I even had the pleasure to meet a few seasoned members of the Elie family: "Rockin' Barb", "Large Marge", and "Flatulent Franz" - all of which were merry company.
After the bride and groom had sailed off to do whatever brides and grooms do on their wedding night, Luke, Reuben, and I joined forces and decided it would be a fitting occasion to ransack, ravage, and pillage the campus of University of Michigan. Indeed, screams of terror accompanied our arrival. The campus was, for the lack of a better description, nice. One of us proposed that a picture be taken with the locally famous U of M clock tower in the background. We discussed the proposition, weighing the pros and cons of such, and reached a mutual agreement in the affirmative. So, with my usual unassertiveness, I approached the nearest and least intimidating lady that seemed to be unoccupied at the moment, and kindly requested her cooperation. She gladly obliged. Then, much to everybody's surprise, she assumed the prone position, laying down flat on the ground, and adjusted the camera so as to capture the best angle. It was apparent that she was a professional photographer. She snapped a few photos, reviewed them, and with a sneer, began to hurl insults at my camera, exclaiming that she "does not work with cheap stuff like this" and "this camera is crap. I've seen cell phones cameras better than this." Despite the insults, she was easily the most diligent passerby that I had ever asked to take a picture. I graciously thanked her for time (even though, despite all her effort, the picture kind of sucked), and we continued our plundering of the university. Reuben and I parted ways -him to Niagra Falls to see his beloved brother, Luke and I head to Lansing, Michigan to stay with at the house of J.J. Davis (Luke's noble roommate in Korea, and whom I later learned that "Davis" was not his real name. How mysterious).
Next stop, Traverse City, Michigan. Being my first time in Michigan, Luke thought it fitting to give me ye ol' tour. And, that he did. It is roughly three hours from Lansing to Traverse City. At one point, we made a pit-stop at a lake park in "Cadillac, Michigan", whereby we noticed two young girls, probably no more than 13 or 14 years of age, who seemed in need of some worthy opponents to play some 2-on-2 beach volleyball. Considering that Luke is a volleyball coach, we agreed that we were worthy, and could probably score a easy victory. But, alas! Luke and I approached them, gained permission to play them in a quick round, and proceeded to get, pardon the term, "ghetto-stomped" by these two youngsters. We left embarrassed, hoping that no one had noticed what had happened.
Traverse City, the cherry capitol, is located on the northern tip of lower Michigan. If one were to drive through, one would quickly discover why it is called so. It is, perhaps, one of the more beautiful places I've seen as of late. Cherry and wine orchards abound. Lake Michigan's beaches rival those in Hawaii, minus the giant race of Samoans, and upon its water's surface you will see sailboats, jet-skis, and the sparkling glimmer of the summer sun. Fun, fun, fun...
Being the cherry capitol, it just so happened that our tour of Traverse City coincided with the National Cherry Festival, which mostly seemed like a typical carnival, only with cherries. And, it would be a crying shame if one attends a carnival without partaking in one of its most delectable treats - the Elephant Ear.
All was merry. That is, until... upon our return, the braking system exploded on Luke's most prized possession - a '97 Ford Windstar van. I understand that the terms "exploded" and "braking system" don't usually go together in the same sentence, but that is precisely what happened. Bang! The Luke-mobile was forced to coast along the road, using the emergency brake to slow down, in search of somewhere to stop. As we were coasting along at death defying speeds in excess of 12 miles per hour, a long string of cars were now behind us, waiting to pass. And, perhaps, this was just a coincidence - there were three attractive girls that Luke and I (mostly Luke) had sparked up some conversation with only 10 minutes prior at a nearby beach. They probably thought we (mostly Luke) were pretty cool dudes. Among the many cars that passed us, were these same three girls who undoubtedly recognized us as "that cool guy and his dorky friend". As they passed, we glanced over, and they appeared to be laughing at us, the bearers of great misfortune, who only a moment ago were so cool. Oh, how the tables turn!
Fortunately, some relatives of Mr. Elie resided in the nearby area. They took us in, hungry and weary as we were, and showed us great degree of hospitality. Many a meals were were devoured, many a stories were told, and many a laughs were shared. At one uncle's house, Uncle Richard if my memory serves me correctly, a high-stake wager of 15 cents was made concerning the year of OJ Simpson's car chase. I said 1994. Others foolishly claimed the year 1991. It is needless to say who was the new owner of a shiny dime and nickel, and who was bereft of it.Meanwhile, the van had been repaired. It was time to hit the road again. First stop, Blackbeard's mini-golf course in downtown Traverse City, the site where many great men had fallen at the hands of Luke Elie's golf putter. Many threats portending of my impending doom were directed at me, but Luke's intimidation tactics were ineffectual, as water rolls off a duck's back. And, despite my weak start, by hole five the game was tied and stayed neck-and-neck until the very end. Cut-throat competition, it was. Unfortunately for my dear friend Luke, however, his threats proved empty and hollow. Fortune was on my side as it was on the Duke of Wellington's side in the battle of Waterloo. Luke, the Napoleon Bonaparte of all things sports, finally tasted bitter defeat and met his demise at his own personal battle of Waterloo. Where, oh death, is your sting!
Next stop, Sleeping Bear sand dunes national park. Go there. It's sweet.
Luke and I parted ways - he to Ohio enroute to Korea, and I to South Bend, Indiana. When I say South Bend, I really mean a small town between South Bend and Chicago called LaPorte, the humble origin of the Johnson family. During my stay in Laporte, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins were all visited upon and reconnected with. Once again, many meals were were devoured, many a stories were told, and many a laughs were shared. Good times and jovial merry-making was had by all. I went together with the family of "Uncle Krys and Aunt Gail", whom I affectionately refer to as "K-rock and G-funk", and visited Michigan City Pier. Much fun was had, except for "Uncle Krys", who despises being exposed to direct sunlight.
During my stay in LaPorte, one of the best memories I have was touring the nearby campus of Notre Dame with a certain "Aunt Julie" (names may have been changed). And, although this statement may sound bold, this campus was probably the most beautiful I have yet to see thus far (sorry, University of Michigan) in the few short years I have lived upon this rock we call earth.
Take a look for yourselves, most judicious reader:
"Touchdown Jesus"
The "Notre Dame Basilica": Just in case you were wondering what that means, a basilica is a cathedral that holds the remains of a deceased pope or saint. For example, St. Peter's Basilica in Rome holds... (surprise!) the remains of St. Peter. This particular basilica held someone of importance, but please forgive me as my treacherous memory does allow me to recall it at the moment. Magnificent architecture.
Inside. This picture from my "crappy camera", as the outspoken lady in Michigan called it, does not do it justice. It was, perhaps, the most tranquil and serene church I have ever set foot in. Majestic.
A statue of Jesus on campus, something you will never see at an American public university:
The famous "Golden Dome". Standing atop this dome is St. Mary, which made sense after I learned that "Notre Dame" itself means "Our Lady". Marvelous.
Notre Dame was incredible, and I felt a special affinity for it since I had just finished reading Victor Hugo's "Hunchback of Notre Dame", although in reality it was nothing to do with anything on campus, except for the one hunchback I saw. Or, maybe that was just some fat kid with a large wart covering his left eye and shoulder pads on..Many a time did our family venture out a packs o' wolves and ravage local restaurant establishments. And our pack o' wolves were fun, especially these two wolves that I had not seen in ages, Adam and Andrew Wolvenstein:
The culmination of the journey, the pinnacle, the apex was the following: meeting with frontman of the group formerly known as Slayer, Reuben Haggar, in Chicago to watch a Cubs game. In all honesty, he is probably the coolest dude I know. If not THE coolest, at least commanding a position in my top five. The unsuspecting inhabitants of the third largest in city in the US were laid to utter waste on the evening of Sunday, July 18th. But, it cannot be said that they were not warned:
This game was fun. We watched the Cubs decimate the Phillies, and although I have no real allegiance to the Cubs or even like baseball at all, I found myself swooped up in the euphoria of crowd, cheering for every positive development - stolen bases, strikeouts, fly balls caught, and of course, the multiple homeruns. Wrigley Field was beautiful as well, although I had already been there once with my brothers (The Guardians) last year.
But, alas, all good things must come to an end, my friends. And this northward excursion was no exception. After nearly a fortnight of being away, I was elated to see this sign on the road welcoming me back to Tennessee (God bless that state of our union):
The mountainous terrain of the Appalachians. The dense fog that seemed to roll along those mountains, almost as if God himself had wrapped the trees in white cotton candy. The towering rocky cliffs along the roads, which seemed as though God had sliced through with a giant knife, revealing the different layers of strata upon strata. The green low-hanging ivy growing over these cliffs. The luscious green foliage that topped the mountains, like tens of thousands of candles on a birthday cake. These all welcomed me back to my new eastern Tennessee home in beautiful Knoxville, my favorite city in the state. Upon crossing this state border, I once again dawned my coonskin cap, and vowed never to leave her again. Amen.
