Mackinaw Island

This post is written for Friday Fictioneers. 



Sometimes we waited in line for over four hours to get our car on the boat to take us to the island. The old Chevrolet needed the rest.

Chocolate, horse carts with poop bags hanging from their behinds, and of course the Grand Hotel were the soul of the island. The smell of the island followed you as you walked the city streets.

We never stayed at the Grand. Dad always knew when the last ferry left the island for the mainland. He said one day there would be a bridge to replace the ferries.




  1. I also had to Google the island. A four hour wait certainly takes me to a different era. Your flash had a lovely reflective tone to it of days gone by. Well done.
    xx Rowena

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Reminds me of my childhood driving to Kentucky from Ohio back when the Brent Spence Bridge was still a toll bridge. We always crossed the river by a little wooden decked ferry – 1 car at a time. You had to stay in the car because there were no railings and no room to get out. The rule, rain, snow, or shine, windows had to be down… I assume because of the precariousness of the transport. Ahhhh, those were the days… 🙂 ❤

    Liked by 1 person

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