The Nostalgia that is Midland

The story begins with me helping start up a research unit out of the Department of Economics at San Jose State University.  The story has no ending yet, but somewhere in the middle I find myself running across the infamous Tridge of Midland, Michigan in the middle of a blizzard.

Before going any further, I must warn you that being from California, I carelessly use words like blizzard in reference to any weather that does not involve a sun.  The spelling of Tridge, however, was not careless; it is meant to imply a bridge with three legs (as opposed to the implicit two legs of the bridges with which you are most likely familiar).  The three legs span the shores over the confluence of two docile, unknown rivers that will remain inessential to the full understanding of the story.

While we’re off track, I used to spend my winter breaks in Midland.  This is where I first met snow.  This is where I would watch my grandfather devise intelligent bird-feeders that could throw a perpetrating squirrel a good ten feet and not spill but an ounce of seed. 

Also in the middle of the story I meet lots of really intelligent, passionate people and they teach me how to start and operate a think tank.  No, it is not that easy.  Nor is driving through a blizzard to an airport.  On return from Midland we missed our plane.  It’s the first time this has happened to me.