Weeknotes: July 6–10, 2026
Monday, July 6
The downtown library is crowded with other refugees charging devices and working on laptops. I am one of nearly 350,000 DTE Energy customers who lost power during Friday night's storm. At the time, I was 200 miles away in Benzie County, setting up for a gig after two nights of camping on the Leelanau Peninsula. The weather up there was lovely.
Today, the downed power line at the end of my block is still sparking and smoking on the curb, cordoned off by yellow emergency tape, but otherwise unbothered since its explosion almost three days ago. It's like a less-endearing Neil the Seal: troublesome, potentially lethal, but exciting to watch.
Last night, Nick and I drank scotch on a dark porch a few houses down, chatting with neighbors who claim to have heard that DTE were recruiting French-Canadian electrical workers from across the border. Makes sense that they’d seek reinforcement, but the French-Canadian part seems dubious — were none available from Ontario? My mind forms an image of a lively Québécois lumber camp popping up on our street, mingling aromas of woodsmoke and maple syrup as flannelled men scurry up the poles, shouting instructions in French.
It’s late afternoon and I'm dozing on the bed, unaware my electricity has just been restored. Nick sends a text from next door: They did it!!! Ooohhhh, Cannnnnn-ada! I don't know who is actually responsible, but I'm happy to give our Northern neighbors credit.
Weeknotes: October 6–11, 2025
Monday, October 6
"Sophia, bring it back to starboard, you're too close to that kayak! Sorry, kayak."
I wave at the coxswain — Sophia's oar wasn't even close. I'm finishing an evening paddle, upriver from Argo Livery, almost, but not quite to Barton Dam, then back past Bandemer, the Huron's regional rowing hub. I figured I might run into some river traffic, but didn't expect to share this segment with eight full crews and their launch boats. At a wide bend, about a half hour upriver, I tucked into some reeds and enjoyed a beer while the university and high school crews rowed noisily by. The season is starting to fade, but the weather tonight is gorgeous. Maybe I'll still have time for a couple more paddles before winter comes.
Back at Argo, a string band has set up under the pavilion. When I put in, a man was tuning a double bass, but now they are eight or nine strong with fiddles, mandolin, a dobro, and several guitars. I dock to "Will the Circle Be Unbroken" and sing along quietly while stowing my gear.
Weeknotes: June 17–21, 2024
Monday, June 17
The start of my marathon training schedule coincides with a miserable heat wave. It's early morning runs or none at all. I'd expected the work on the Spring St. Bridge to be a summer-long endeavor, but as I'm about to make my detour, I see cars crossing in both lanes. To my left is a dirt lot that alternately serves as a staging area for construction crews and a depot for piles of compost in the summer. As I pass, a large earth mover uses its basket to push an aluminum rowboat across its expanse. The bridge looks unchanged; I'm not even sure what they repaired.
Although it's good news for this leg of my run, my satisfaction is tempered by the knowledge that they have already closed off the LeForge Bridge, which I cross even more frequently. LeForge is my gateway out of town, on foot or by car, and also offers easiest access to the river. Just east of the Pen Dam, it's where I put my kayak in. I've lived in river towns before, but never been so affected by their crossings as I am here.