The beach emptied out this morning as a lot of folks left, including those at the moomincabin. I did my best to stay out of the fray or is it out of the way? At some point the beach urchins (who were both riding in one vee-hickle), decided they needed to leave so “moom can settle.” They know me well.

Settling for me involved a slow backroad ride somewhere and getting gas for Cygnus so I asked the GG to take me on a tour of Dafter, a mini town southeast of here. I have driven through Dafter many times in my life but I can never remember exactly what it looks like. Today’s drive verified that it is basically a single street of houses and a few other buildings. No restaurants or retail spots although it does have a post office and some very old sidewalks. Most people who live in Dafter these days probably “commute” to Sault Ste. Siberia or wherever.

My family has some shirt-tail relatives who farmed in the Dafter area when I was a child and before. My granddaddy’s sister Alice married Alec from that area. They had no biological children but adopted Alec’s brother’s son George. I *think* George’s mom died in childbirth or shortly after but don’t quote me. He was mildly disabled from birth injuries (again, don’t quote me). He married Anna and together they successfully raised three children. Before George died, he was the darling of the Lake Superior State University’s women’s basketball team.

I think I remember being at that farm maybe ONCE but couldn’t find its location now to save my life. My grandfather told his sister’s child that he and his children could visit the moominbeach any time they wanted. Many Sunday afternoons throughout my life, they did pull in to our parking lot and take their kids swimming. We welcomed them but it could be awkward as George’s religion and polly-ticks were a bit different than ours. Ancient history though and it was probably more awkward for them than it was for us.

We actually had an errand in the Dafter area, which was to deliver some swords saws and scabbards to the Tool Trailer. This trailer is down a 2-track called Z Row and backing in to it, Cygnus stopped herself, sounding a collision alarm. GRASS was what set it off. Like I always say, most of that vee-hicular safety crapola needs to be turned off.

From there we ventured down to Kinross, former home of Kincheloe AFB, which used to sometimes send low-flying B52s over the moominbeach. Our goal there was to fill up Cygnus but the gas station wanted us to go inside to pay and that can be a pain for complicated reasons so we went over and up to Brimley to fill up at the tribal run gas station.

I was reading on the deck (with socks on) this afternoon when I noticed that “someone” had droven in. I didn’t know the vee-hickle but it turned out it was Jeep and Pan coming over to check on when MDUH was arriving.

The droven-ins… When my mouse was about five, we were up here and one morning the grandparents went to town. My mouse told me she was going down to the beach but as she opened the door she beat a hasty retreat with, “Moom, someone has droven in!” I took a gander out the window and saw that the grandparents’ vee-hickle had returned. I said, “Mouse, go and look at who has droven in.” When she did, her granddaddy was getting out of the car and she said, “Oh, it’s just a Great Big Mouse.”

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