AND, PEOPLE OUT OF THE MIST
A sequel to People In The Mist - above a couple of pages
Thirty years ago, my son and I had somehow crossed a time line, (what else could I call it?), and had ended up in a distant past. How distant, we never knew. Oddly - one day I had recrossed that same time line and had reemerged back into present time.
I have thought about those events every day since. What a crazy thing. What a sad thing. And, what an exciting thing. Nothing could happen to me that would ever top that, crazy chain of events. I thought.
After I retired, there was now time to pursue hobbies more actively. Wow - a week of Saturdays! A whole month of Saturdays! I could go canoeing and camping more. I asked a friend who I'd paddled and camped with a lot, if he was interested in a trip that would be similar to, but different from any we'd been on. Well, Charlie hardly ever turned down a paddling trip, and in three weeks, we were camped at that very same mysterious camp site.
"Charlie, do you remember when we were here, years ago?"
"Remember!", he exhorted. "That damned snapper almost got my toes!"
Pausing, I turned to him and said, "Charlie, I have a story to tell you. You may not believe it. Pass over your cup and I'll give you some of this single malt. And I'll tell it to you."
About thirty years ago, Eric and I were camped here. I was showing him some of the things here that you had shown me. So, I took us on a similar route to what you and I had traveled. A snapper almost got his toes too. Probably the same one. But, maybe not. Any way, one day, as we were paddling back to this site, something pretty weird happened. I went on to tell Charlie the story of people in the mist. He wanted to believe me, but how could he?
"Charlie, do you remember how I told you that Eric and I had a bad argument, and he left for Arizona? And that I never heard from him again? Well, that wasn't what happened. He actually disappeared back into time somewhere. And never came back. I came back, but he didn't. I know he survived there, because he left a sign. Look over here. I showed him the chiseled letters and numbers - Eric 2 Jul 68. That's when he was born."
It was wuiet for a few minutes. We both looked at the name and date. "What's this little arrow here, chiseled into the tock?", Charlie asked. He was pointing to something I hadn't noticed. We scraped away more leaves and moss. Another couple of inches out, in the direction of the arrow, was more writing chiseled into the rack. "Eric 1895++".
Wow, what the heck was this? Had Eric actually come back forward in time? Had he returned, but not to this present time, but a different present time? That was a lot to wrap our minds around. Had he returned, realized that he was again back at that site, but in a different time? Then connected with Europeans, found out what the date was, and added the second message?
A week later, Charlie and I were back home again. And I had some ideas about how to research that part of the Killarney area for the 1895 era forward. If he had been there - out of a far distant past, in a more recent past - for an extended time, as the two + marks indicated, maybe I could find some evidence?
My entry point was to find what towns and settlements existed in that area in 1895. Then I could search records of those towns for names and stories that might reflect Eric's name. After a lot of research that didn't turn up anything conclusive, I let the project lie fallow for a month or two. All I had found was a folk take about a blonde haired, blue eyed "Indian" that inexplicably turned up one day. It seems that he appeared, hung around that fall and winter, and left in the spring of 1896. No mention of a name, though.
All of this got me a bit more interested in genealogy, so, when Julie gave me a kit to analyze DNA, I used it. Part of the report from that package included information about family tree. Part of that is looking at census reports, etc. My family came over from Germany, and settled here in Michigan. I know the exact spot, to within 5 feet.
Three miles, SSE of my hometown of Okemos, is the T intersection of Dobie and Stillman Roads. Dobie is a 5 mile long road, running south from Hamilton Road to Holt Road. Stillman Road runs 3 miles easterly from Dobie to Meridian Road. In fact when I was a kid, I knew both Don Dobie and Ralph Stillman, whose families the roads were named after. At that intersection, several immigrant families had settled. They called their cluster Snickerville. My family's home was a simple two story house on the south side of Stillman Road, 95 yards east of Dobie Road. The house still stood there when I was a kid.
Reading over census reports, and amendments, I found what I was looking for. My grandad had been born there in Snickerville. He bought an 80 acre farm about one mile east of Snickerville, on Stillman Road. There he lived until he died. My dad was born there in June of 1910. The census report for that year, and that household listed my grandad, George, my grandmother Laura, my aunt Mary, uncle Stanley (dad's older sister and brother), baby George Junior (my dad), and a boarder Eric Voss!
BINGO! Somehow, Eric had traveled the several hundred miles southwesterly to Sarnia, Ontario, and then westerly across lower Michigan to where my grandad lived. Somehow, he had cooked up a story about being a shirttail relation, and boarded there. He was there when my dad - Eric's grandad - was born! My god, how does THAT happen? My son knew his granddad as an older man, and as a baby.
After that, he moved away, and I haven't yet found where. Leek Cemetery is only 1/4 mile south of Snickerville; all the Vosses are buried there. But, not Eric. Somewhere else, my son lies at rest. Lying in that place since before I, his father, was born.
Sitting here now, reading back over this, I pause. Looking out through the slider, out into the woods beyond the deck, I see that it's foggy out there. And, I can't see very far out into the mist........... . . .