I was not much of a story teller, so I visualized my earliest ruminations of ever coming to this area as a child. My aunt showing me all the trails, and all the sign to look for. Fawns appeared in the spring, and deer could always be found. She was always telling me about the birds, and how to distinguish them apart. Sitting in the boat fishing with my uncle. The unexpected tugs on the line, that got my young heart beating strongly.Late at night over an open fire, cooking the trout to perfection, with only a little salt. The love we shared, as Uncle Jake taught me all his secret places to fish, the techniques he used. As if passing down his legacy. Then how Aunt Harriet would tuck me in on a cold night after a meal she had prepared, that was impossible to taste any better. The cast iron stove in the corner, making the house warm enough, but sending out the scent of burning white birch bark. The roof hammering, as large drops of rain struck it and the windows. The coal oil lamps that. A secretary came and went a couple of times with paperwork stuff, the dealership boss came in to congratulate us for deciding to purchase such a wonderful car, "especially because Lexus have the best blah, blah..." I had to sign something else, I had to call Dad again to discuss how to get it insured (which Dad had warned me might be tricky, because of my age, so we'd have to do some calling around this afternoon in case getting it insured was difficult), I had to listen to more blah, blah. There was a lot of messing around.Toward the end of which I heard the secretary's voice from somewhere behind me stridently declare, "There he is!"Her tone caught everyone's attention. We looked up to see two cops walking into the office, with the secretary standing behind them.The front cop and I recognized each other. He said, "Ahh, Mr. Anderson..."The secretary loved the cop's recognition, crowing, "I knew it!" ... We've been called because this lady thinks you've got a fake driver's license.".
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