Belle
Isle.
Years
ago, I spent an entire summer in Detroit on an accounting assignment. It
was a contract with the federal government and the reimbursement rules only
allowed travel home to Colorado every other weekend, so I did a lot of driving
around to explore. I found this wonderful place called Belle Isle.
It’s in the Detroit River which runs between Lake Huron and Lake Erie.
Drive
across a lone bridge to get there. The entire island is an urban
park. A sharp contrast to downtown Detroit. There are roads to
explore, trails to walk, lakes within the island, grassy sports fields, a
conservatory, playgrounds, forests, and a giant old crusty multi-tiered
fountain on the south end. I found some photos on the internet.
Everything
about Belle Isle in the 1980s felt a little long in the tooth, run-down, but
run-down just added to the character. It was magical; my favorite place
to spend time away from work. (While I had to be out of town.)
Mom
was still alive then, so immediately when I got home the first time after my
discovery, I shared it with her; my new favorite place. She sat quietly
while I described everything about it, then said, “You know, your dad was from
Detroit. That was his favorite place.” He took her there to show it
off, way back when it was fresh. Long after Dad was dead, I had
unwittingly discovered a favorite place of his that I had never heard of.
We got to share that, not at the same time, but together.
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