Migrating to Michigan

Migrating to Michigan by Jeffery L Schatzer Page B

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Authors: Jeffery L Schatzer
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were everywhere. A strong, woodsy smell filled the air. Mister Adams skipped along as we came to the shore of a smaller lake. We watched a beaver swim out in the water. It carried a long branch in its mouth.
    We followed the shoreline until we came to a clearing. Men were chopping down a tree at the far side. Their axes made loud “thunking” sounds as they dug into the giant tree.
    â€œWatch this,” said the professor.
    After a few more swings of the axe, the huge tree started making a loud, crunching sound. The men who were cutting the tree quickly grabbed their tools and ran away. Slowly at first, the tree started tipping. Mister Adams put his hands over his ears. When the tree fell, it made a terrible noise as it hit the ground. The earth shook under our feet.
    â€œWhoa,” Owen said, “that was awesome.”
    The men came out of the woods with their tools and began cutting the limbs off the tree and moving them into large piles. We watched for a while before the professor motioned for us to keep moving.
    At the far end of the lake we saw a field with some crops growing in neat rows. A crude log house sat at the edge of the lake. A man and woman were working in a small garden near the house. We walked along the field, careful not to step on any plants.
    As we passed by the farm house, the professor waved at the man and woman. They waved back, then quickly returned to their work. Mister Adams liked to wave at the people, but we took him by the hand and continued our walk.
    â€œJust a little farther,” said the professor as he looked around to make sure Mister Adams was still nearby. The professor pointed toward his nephew. Mister Adams was watching a butterfly fluttering to and fro through the wildflowers in a small clearing.
    After we left the field, we came upon a well-worn path that ran east and west. The professor sat on a log, pulled out his pocketknife, and whittled on a stick. Then he started drawing in the dirt with the sharpened end. Professor Tuesday drew a quick map of where we’d been on our trip to Holland in 1849. He pointed out the big lake, the dunes, the schoolhouse, the smaller lake, the place where the men cut down the tree, the farm, and where we were now resting. I wrote some notes in my journal. Owen scribbled a few pictures in his.
    â€œIs that all there is to see here?” I asked.
    â€œNo,” answered the professor, “I want to rest for a while along this path. Perhaps we’ll meet someone.”
    Just after the professor finished speaking, a man came around a bend on the trail. He was carrying a large bundle and heading toward the town of Holland.
    â€œGood afternoon, sir,” the professor said. His Tuesday Translator changed the words into Dutch so the man could understand him. “Sit down and join us for a short rest.”
    â€œGood afternoon,” the man said in Dutch as he lowered his bundle and took a seat on the log. He took off his cap and wiped his brow before speaking. “It is a long walk from Grand Rapids. I am glad to be near my home.”
    â€œLooks like you purchased some supplies,” the professor said.
    â€œYes,” said the man, “some food items, a few small tools, and some fishing hooks.”
    â€œHow’s the fishing?” Owen asked.
    The man smiled. “We catch many fish. My family lives on the fish we catch and small game we hunt. Sometimes my children tell me they are tired of eating fish all the time, so I bought some vegetables for them. I also purchased some seed. This year we will grow our own vegetables.”
    â€œDid you see any native people?” I asked.
    â€œNo,” said the man as he gathered up his bundle. “We do not see many native people here.” The man lifted his bundle and wished us a good day as he walked off.
    â€œI think it’s time we be heading back as well,” said the professor. “We have much to talk about.”

Owen Takes a Trip
The

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