Indian River Story- My family would drive from Ann Arbor to our little a-frame at Nub’s Nob ski hill every single winter weekend throughout the 60s and early 70s. I lived for these weekends. My Mom would pick us up after school, the car loaded with our dog, two cats, and my parrot. She’d hand me and my three siblings our individual, cold, foil-wrapped hamburgers as we cruised on to the northbound 1-75 on ramp in the Friday evening winter dusk. I would spend the entire drive counting the minutes until about 4 1/2 hours later, when I would finally see THE MAGIC NUMBER pop out of the exit sign glowing from our headlights. 310. Exit 310. Indian River. The drive was almost done! We’d hit the Indian River Trading Post to pee then head up to what had to have been Pat and Gary’s for parental booze, grape gum balls, and red licorice. I loved the wormy, fishy smell, and was enthralled by “The Bullet Shelves” as my mom called them. I was ruined for life however one November when we went up north for Thanksgiving, hit Pat and Gary’s as per usual, and my naive, animal lover eyes were met with the Buck Pole 🫣 in all its crimson glory. We got our gum balls at the Trading Post after that 🥴
This is GOLD!! Wow I love it. I feel the same way about Exit 310, as a matter of fact, and love your memories of the Trading Post. I would go there with my grandpa and all his buddies for coffee when I was really young—I actually think this was my daycare when school was closed for snow days. And the wormy smell at Pat and Gary's is so spot on. Sorry you had to bear witness to the buck pole, I think there's a certain amount of exposure therapy that needs to happen before it becomes entirely palatable haha
Aren't These places are what the kids call core memories now?
My wife's family had a place outside of Dexter. PICKNEY MI has a bichin party store. When our kid was small and we go there a guy ran a legit Fly shop inside of it. He got brave and moved next door to his own place. That place? Well it didn't burn down so much as flame out. I used an old 14 foot john boat. Eschewed the ancient 10 horse Johnson for some oars and would out fish the bass boat guys with my self made foam poppers and deer hair Turk's Tarrantulas. But you could go out the canal into the Huron River pull up next to the Party Store and get cold PBR amd worms for the kids to pull bluegills out the back lot. Charcoal bug spray Mac n cheese. Most of what you need for lake days was there for the getting.
I grew up in South Louisiana and I do miss being able to get gas, whiskey, ammo and great Boudain, Tasso and plate lunches from locals. And sometimes there would be a guy selling fresh Gulf shrimp or crab at the edge of the road. Just before you pulled out of that magic Shop Rite on the way to whatever the hell was going to take away from the place you came from.
I loved reading about the Party Store! I didn't realize Party Stores weren't a thing everywhere until moving to Montana for college. I have fond memories of the Little Party Store in Harbor Springs- the place where we'd roll over with our money from returning cans and get slushies on hot summer days while perusing aisles of candy and fishing lures. The Little Party Store there is gone, but I find myself returning to the idea of the party store often. Perhaps it is nostalgia for the simpler days of my youth coupled with nostalgia for growing up in Northern Michigan, a place unlike any other I've found. Thanks for the trip down memory lane, Amanda!
Not sure how I stumbled into this article, but it really resonated with me as a creature of sentiment. My compliments. A business is very much like the person who owns it, and it's never quite the same when it changes hands. When I think about all the party stores, and bait shops, and dive bars I remember from northern Michigan when I was a kid- with that atmosphere of age and integrity- it makes me sad to remember that the generation of people who ran those stores are retired and gone now. Nice to know they're alive in other people's memories too.
Nearly in tears at “… a place whose aisles I’ve wandered as a kid looking for Charleston Chews and a slice of pizza and as a 20-something looking for flies and honey whiskey and as a 30-something looking for a bottle of merlot and a dose of nostalgia.”
Love when you talk Indian River to us! You def captured it - the ol gal would be proud.
I was so excited for you to read this one, glad you enjoyed <3 always the hostess of the pre-buck pole glam up haha. And of course when I say "wandering the aisles looking for pizza and charleston chews," I was imagining you and Emily alongside me :)
Oh - I was pumped at the name drop but didn’t want to brag too much in the comments ;) I was all smiley and chuckly for a solid 15 min and Jason was like “what are you doing over there?” And I was like well Amanda wrote a story about Pat n Gary’s and the buck pole and he said “dear god I’ll never forget learning of the buck pole- where did I find you??” <3
Indian River Story- My family would drive from Ann Arbor to our little a-frame at Nub’s Nob ski hill every single winter weekend throughout the 60s and early 70s. I lived for these weekends. My Mom would pick us up after school, the car loaded with our dog, two cats, and my parrot. She’d hand me and my three siblings our individual, cold, foil-wrapped hamburgers as we cruised on to the northbound 1-75 on ramp in the Friday evening winter dusk. I would spend the entire drive counting the minutes until about 4 1/2 hours later, when I would finally see THE MAGIC NUMBER pop out of the exit sign glowing from our headlights. 310. Exit 310. Indian River. The drive was almost done! We’d hit the Indian River Trading Post to pee then head up to what had to have been Pat and Gary’s for parental booze, grape gum balls, and red licorice. I loved the wormy, fishy smell, and was enthralled by “The Bullet Shelves” as my mom called them. I was ruined for life however one November when we went up north for Thanksgiving, hit Pat and Gary’s as per usual, and my naive, animal lover eyes were met with the Buck Pole 🫣 in all its crimson glory. We got our gum balls at the Trading Post after that 🥴
This is GOLD!! Wow I love it. I feel the same way about Exit 310, as a matter of fact, and love your memories of the Trading Post. I would go there with my grandpa and all his buddies for coffee when I was really young—I actually think this was my daycare when school was closed for snow days. And the wormy smell at Pat and Gary's is so spot on. Sorry you had to bear witness to the buck pole, I think there's a certain amount of exposure therapy that needs to happen before it becomes entirely palatable haha
Aren't These places are what the kids call core memories now?
My wife's family had a place outside of Dexter. PICKNEY MI has a bichin party store. When our kid was small and we go there a guy ran a legit Fly shop inside of it. He got brave and moved next door to his own place. That place? Well it didn't burn down so much as flame out. I used an old 14 foot john boat. Eschewed the ancient 10 horse Johnson for some oars and would out fish the bass boat guys with my self made foam poppers and deer hair Turk's Tarrantulas. But you could go out the canal into the Huron River pull up next to the Party Store and get cold PBR amd worms for the kids to pull bluegills out the back lot. Charcoal bug spray Mac n cheese. Most of what you need for lake days was there for the getting.
I grew up in South Louisiana and I do miss being able to get gas, whiskey, ammo and great Boudain, Tasso and plate lunches from locals. And sometimes there would be a guy selling fresh Gulf shrimp or crab at the edge of the road. Just before you pulled out of that magic Shop Rite on the way to whatever the hell was going to take away from the place you came from.
I loved reading about the Party Store! I didn't realize Party Stores weren't a thing everywhere until moving to Montana for college. I have fond memories of the Little Party Store in Harbor Springs- the place where we'd roll over with our money from returning cans and get slushies on hot summer days while perusing aisles of candy and fishing lures. The Little Party Store there is gone, but I find myself returning to the idea of the party store often. Perhaps it is nostalgia for the simpler days of my youth coupled with nostalgia for growing up in Northern Michigan, a place unlike any other I've found. Thanks for the trip down memory lane, Amanda!
this is so lovely. I also didn't realize that party stores weren't a thing elsewhere...now they're such a strong symbol of home!
Not sure how I stumbled into this article, but it really resonated with me as a creature of sentiment. My compliments. A business is very much like the person who owns it, and it's never quite the same when it changes hands. When I think about all the party stores, and bait shops, and dive bars I remember from northern Michigan when I was a kid- with that atmosphere of age and integrity- it makes me sad to remember that the generation of people who ran those stores are retired and gone now. Nice to know they're alive in other people's memories too.
I'm so glad you stumbled on it, and that it resonated. Thanks for reading, Gabe.
Nearly in tears at “… a place whose aisles I’ve wandered as a kid looking for Charleston Chews and a slice of pizza and as a 20-something looking for flies and honey whiskey and as a 30-something looking for a bottle of merlot and a dose of nostalgia.”
Love when you talk Indian River to us! You def captured it - the ol gal would be proud.
I was so excited for you to read this one, glad you enjoyed <3 always the hostess of the pre-buck pole glam up haha. And of course when I say "wandering the aisles looking for pizza and charleston chews," I was imagining you and Emily alongside me :)
Oh - I was pumped at the name drop but didn’t want to brag too much in the comments ;) I was all smiley and chuckly for a solid 15 min and Jason was like “what are you doing over there?” And I was like well Amanda wrote a story about Pat n Gary’s and the buck pole and he said “dear god I’ll never forget learning of the buck pole- where did I find you??” <3
I can't even imagine being introduced to the buckpole as an uninitiated out-of-towner. What a scene!
Beautiful ode to your home! Keep writing about whatever you dang well please
Thank you Kelly! <3 Love when little essays just flow like this one did, without any apparent regard for what I feel like I "should" be writing about.
Yes!! That’s how you know you’re onto something. Love it!