I need to ask my sister, Swede I want to say? We’re just like down home Southern people. My dad married my mom and immediately came to Michigan with his two brothers to get jobs at General Motors. They all three shared a little apartment until they could all get jobs at GM. While my dad was up here my oldest sister was born. She’d already been born and while my mom was in hospital with her the town flooded. The whole first floor of the hospital was underwater. My dad paid a guy in a rowboat to take him to the hospital. He climbed through a window to see my sister for the first time.
The coolest thing about my family is my mom’s mom, Bula, was the postmaster for her hollar. There was no mail delivery. The front porch ran ⅔ the length of the front of the house and my Pahpaw boxed in the end of the porch and that was the Dry Creek Post Office. My Mamaw was the postmaster and the mail delivery, the two big canvas sacks of mail, would be out there at 5 in the morning and Mamaw would go out and sort it out into these pigeonholes and then the entire community would filter across the front of this house in the evening, 6 days a week. If you needed to know anything, you’d just call Bula, she’d tell you what’s going on.