One Day

When I was still in high school, I went on a trip to Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan. I will never forget that place. I never knew what "Big Sky" meant until then. And I have never seen such beauty since.

I tell my friends how flat Saginaw is, and they don't believe me. They'll never believe me then for saying now much flatter Saskatchewan was. Words could never come close to describing that singular experience. Not even pictures would be enough, if they are indeed worth a thousand words. But nevertheless I'll try.

Imagine you're standing outside on a warm summer day in late August with a gentle western breeze, and in every direction as far as the eye can see, there is nothing to obstruct your view other than the signage of the Trans-Canada Highway and a single farmhouse with two lonely trees far off in the distance. All surrounding you are boundless fields of golden summer wheat. No hills, no mountains, no lakes, no forests, nothing other than the white of the sun casting the black of your shadow onto the gray of the road that cuts the yellow of the earth in half, all under the ceiling of the cloudless blue sky. That was what Saskatchewan was like.

Before we left, our relatives took us shopping at a local mall. There was a dollar store. I saw the green-and-yellow flag of Saskatchewan. I wanted to buy it. My mom said no. My mother was firm in her disapproval, but I should have been more stubborn. Was it too much to ask for a flag of the land I fell in love with, a cheap $1 memento of happy days in the Canadian West?

I sulked for a bit. I should have bought it.

My camera was stolen before I could get the film developed of the pictures I took. I lent my copy of my favorite book that I got for 50 cents at a book sale in Moose Jaw, The Call of the Wild, to a friend and never got it back. Now I have nothing, no pictures, no souvenirs; nothing other than my fading memories.

It convinced me, a few years later when on a tour we stopped at Lake Havasu City, Arizona, to buy a flag of Arizona. I went into the kitschy gift shop near the lake to escape from the humidity and the 115 degree heat. My mom was still just as insistent that I not waste my money, and it was a lot more expensive than that one of Saskatchewan I could have gotten two summers ago -- four dollars I believe -- but I knew that I wanted it, and ever since then, that flag has stood beside my bed.

One day -- I don't know when, maybe a year from now or maybe decades from now, but one day -- I will return to Moose Jaw, and I will take some pictures of the golden land and azure sky, and I will buy a flag of the Province of Saskatchewan.

Free As in Speech, Not As in Beer

For Independence Day, I went to the Detroit Zoo for the first time in at least four years. It seemed a little smaller than I remembered and I don't seem to be as excited about exotic animals anymore, but overall I liked it. I got some great pictures of a polar bear pooping above us while we were in the underwater tunnel. I also found the mysterious plant growing in my backyard that I've been trying to identify for the past several years growing at the zoo and took a few pictures of it. It's some sort of thistle, but I can't figure out which one, though I'm sure I could figure it out if I actually put some effort into it.

After the zoo, I decided to head all the way down town to Belle Isle. I also hadn't been there for several years, and I wanted to take some pictures. The island/park was completely covered in huge crowds of people picnicking, and the streets were filled with cars, both parked and unparked. I eventually found a spot and walked around the tip of the island. The weather could have been less gloomy, but I got a few decent pictures of Detroit, Windsor, America, and Canada. Before heading back home, I decided to drive the length of the island, just to see it, and saw a police officer having a field day ticketing car after car illegally parked. I passed by the old small zoo and aquarium -- the aquarium has been closed for several years now unfortunately, but the zoo has been restored -- slowly made my way through all the traffic, and decided to try a new way back onto the freeway.

I thought I would quickly find the street I was looking for, make a left, and then head onto the highway, but instead I passed through a neighborhood of formerly splendid mansions that now were simply larger examples of urban decay. Only a few miles from downtown, these houses were on spacious plots not to be found in any other major city. If this were any other city, these houses would be worth at the very least $2 million, but being Detroit, you'd be lucky to get $100,000. I passed by many more houses that had been boarded up, and even several house-less plots of land. Only two miles from downtown, I found myself passing through empty fields. In a city of a million people, I didn't think urban prairie could lie so close to skyscrapers and office buildings.

Failing to find the street I was looking for, I turned around and eventually went down Gratiot Avenue, one of the main roads leading to downtown. The wide boulevard lay completely unused. As I passed by the barred liquor stores and the abandoned gas stations, I saw one or two cars here and there. It was eerie. But when a million people move out of the city, this is what happens.

I found the onramp to I-75 at last, and I drove 75 miles an hour away from the crumbling Art Deco skyscrapers and the condemned row houses, past the wealthy, segregated suburbs, through the forests and farmland, beyond the struggling, decaying city of Flint, and back into the gritty, dying town known as Saginaw. I drove past the boarded up houses of this mini-Detroit, past the closed car dealership, past the sign praying God for hope on our city, towards the safety of well-manicured lawns and houses with all their windows intact.

Greek Fest

Yesterday I went to Saginaw's annual Greek Fest, held at the Greek Orthodox church not too far from where I live. I have to say it was a little surreal at first, being among the crowds of people there for the beer (at a church too). I, on the other hand, was there to see a friend who would be dancing on stage at 8:30.

I was a little afraid that I wouldn't see anybody I knew, but I should have known that that would be impossible. Less than three minutes after I entered, I fortuitously met my friend Adam who I was actually going to see next week after not having seen him for over two years. He was leaving for a five-year tour with the Navy in less than two months, and I made sure to see him before he left. Adam was with Drew, a year younger than us, who I had not seen since high school. Amidst the throng of unnaturally tanned girls and beer-guzzling former frat boys, I didn't see anyone else I knew, but Adam and Drew seemingly could pick out every guy there who's played baseball within a 20 mile radius of Saginaw... which makes sense, I suppose, if you've been playing baseball throughout high school and college.

For them, it was like a bad high school reunion. As my friend on stage started dancing with the other kids to loud, incomprehensible Greek music, there was the former baseball teammate not seen in years, the old friend in high school they never spoke to again, the guy who dropped out of college and works at Subway now, the girl who's had two kids already.

Adam and Drew wanted a beer, and so we headed to the gyro tent, but then Drew quickly discovered he couldn't find his driver's license. He couldn't buy a beer anymore, but that wasn't the point -- "I'm so pissed! I never lose anything!" We scavenged the grounds and interviewed the workers and even explored the porta-potties, but all in vain.

Finally, Drew realized, perhaps he hadn't lost his ID after all; maybe it fell out of his pocket in Adam's car. Unfortunately, Adam foolishly parked the car a mile away at a friend's house, but luckily for Drew, I had taken advantage of free parking behind the church and volunteered to take him to Adam's car. Along the way Drew and I chatted briefly about my lack of a future and Drew's busy summer with work and school and baseball. We reached the car, and though we found two plates, a fork, an old McDonald's bag, a few T-shirts, and several dollars in change, we could not find his ID, so we headed back.

Eventually, my friend who I had originally come to see finished the last step of his dance and departed the stage. We paid no attention, though, and paid for our lack of attention with a string of text messages -- "left of stage" -- "our left or your left?" -- "near the tables" -- "which tables?" -- but at last we found him, left of the stage near the tables. We talked for ten or fifteen minutes and he resolved that we would soon hang out, but knowing him, that probably won't happen anytime soon.

The festival swelled with people as the night went on, even though lightning was flashing now and a small drizzle dampened the grounds. Adam had been texting a girl the entire time and hoped to meet up with her soon, but to no avail; earlier she said she was near the porta-potties, but we didn't find her, now she said she was waiting at the entrance, but we were waiting at the entrance too and couldn't see her. At least she hadn't given up yet.

As the rain began to fall harder, we took to the roofed entrance to the church and sat on the steps, watching the people of Saginaw scurry by. Adam still hoped to see this elusive girl, but we were less sanguine. A group of people we knew passed by and stopped to say hi. One of them invited us to come over to their house and get trashed because, you know, there's nothing else to do. We politely told him maybe.

When it became midnight and the music stopped, God forgave our transgressions and ended the rain. I realized suddenly that there was more than one entrance to the festival, and we quickly walked to the other side. There it was, next to the porta-potties was the other entrance, the entrance Adam's girl had been waiting at. By now though it was too late. The girl and the opportunity were both gone.

We walked slowly across the grounds through the minefield of puddles and tossed beer cups. The quiet drizzle returned. Unwilling to let them walk a mile in the rain, I told Adam and Drew to get into my car. I drove them back to their car and we said our goodbyes. I don't know if I'll ever see them again.