Water from the surrounding hills collect in these low, marshy valleys. Walking the ground in this area in spring time means watching out for watery sinkholes, kicking the muck off your shoes, and fighting off mosquitos. The land was cheap, but some settlers paid heavy prices when the watery earth began to swallow up their homes, cars, and crops. The musty air smells of rotten wood and is alive with sounds of wildlife.

A photo negative of the landowner and his big blue Buick Eight before it sunk into the ground.

After returning home from military service, the man spent some time in Traverse City State Hospital, having trouble accepting the horrors of war that he had seen.

Following his release, he had a preoccupation with religion and guns. Much of the house filled with bibles, ammunition, and gun magazines. This written verse probably summarizes what was on his mind most often.

This farm was settled in the 1880s along a beautiful ravine. The families that moved to this area were among the first and are still active in the community government today.

Upon entering the homestead, I heard a rustling upstairs, speculating it was an animal. I knocked three times on the nearest wall and said “Hello?” to confirm my guess. Instead there was a clear knock-knock-knock in answer from upstairs. I ran up in search of the source, but found only an empty attic.

As I was ready to leave, I poked my head around the cellar door and my eyes were met with this mother doe. She froze for nearly two minutes until I scared her off on her way.

This last location hardly felt part of the material world, because it was closer to returning to earth. The floors were practically dirt already. Oddly, the synthetic material composing the vests in the center had hardly aged at all.