I’ve been back in Detroit exactly a month and a day. A few folks I know, mostly my relatives, wonder if I’m crazy. My son even asked me if I’d gone senile. Well, crazy yes, but then I’ve always been a bit crazy. Senile? Who knows. Could be.

Detroit has a bad rap. From Motor City to Murder City, an urban landscape of burned out and abandoned houses, empty, trash strewn lots, crime and crack-heads. But there is another side to her, a side not often acknowledged in the if-it-bleeds-it-leads mentality this country seems so enamored of.

There was a time when I took the Dudes everywhere I went. Alas, they are barky little critters and show their disapproval of my absence in the most vocal of ways. Thus, I have begun to leave them home if I plan to be somewhere for longer than it takes to run into the grocery store and back.

The other day, my son called and invited me to go pumpkin picking. This was a chance to meet the granddaughter I’ve never met and see the grandson I haven’t seen since he could fit in the palm of my hand. We spent the day at Blake’s Farm picking out pumpkins, drinking cider and stuffing ourselves with donuts. Afterward, I spent an hour or so watching Monster House with my granddaughter curled up at my side while my grandson watched warily from across the room (I’m not sure he quite knows what to make of this longhaired, bearded grandfather he’s suddenly acquired), then a fine dinner and I headed home.

It was well past dark and I was worried about the critters. I’ve never left the Dudes for this long a time and one of my Cats, Eudora, had gone outside the night before and hadn’t returned by the time I headed over to my son’s house. When I pulled up in front of the house, I could hear barking. Not unusual. The Dudes sit in the window and watch for me and when I appear, they go ballistic.

Problem was, the barking was too loud, too close and too singular.

I looked out the window and there was Horton, racing across the yard toward me. I freaked, thinking all kinds of horrible things and praying that Tennessee was in the house. As I scooped Horton up, my next-door and across-the-street neighbors stepped outside. Lafayette, my across the street neighbor, mentioned that the Dudes been out and about all day and then said I should come over and meet a friend of his. Seemed an odd thing to say but I was in a bit of a panic as there was no Tennessee to go with Horton so I gave it no thought as I hustled Horton inside the house and began calling for Tenn.

Nothing. My worst fear. It was nighttime and one of the Dudes was missing.

I raced back outside and Lafayette once again insisted that I come in and meet his friend. Not wanting to be rude and both wanting and dreading the coming search, I figured do it, get it over with and begin the search. So, I followed him in and there, on the couch, was Tenn.

I was overwhelmed. I didn’t know what to say. I got the whole story then.

The day had been a windy one. As Eudora had still been outside when I left, I set the cat door to in only. Seems the wind wanted in as well and kept pushing the door open. The Dudes, being the smart little critters they are, figured out they could duck out, presumably to look for me, and so they did.

Lafayette and Drey tried to round them up but they are wary Dudes and kept getting away. Finally, Lafayette brought out some turkey meat and managed to coax Tennessee in the house where he spent the day sitting on the couch and watching TV. Horton wasn’t going that route so he stayed outside, in the my front yard, protecting the house while waiting for me to come home.

Murder city, huh? Burnt out houses, empty lots, a population that doesn’t care? Yeah, you can believe that bullshit if you want. The Dudes are curled up next to me as I write this. In a city that didn’t care, they’d likely be dead and gone.

Thanks Drey, and, especially, thanks Lafayette.

This is what it will be like one day: structures overgrown, concrete covered, steel encased in living wood. The cars rushing to join the commute on I-96, the airliners out of Detroit Metro won’t even be memories, the metal will rust, the plastic turn brittle and disintegrate, the concrete crumble and become dust again.

I grew up in this city, spent nearly my entire kidhood not eight blocks from where I now sit. There were a few empty lots back then, overgrown and wild, nestled between the order of trimmed lawns and brightly painted houses. They were our fantasy worlds, our heart dark jungles, an ever changing tableau of Cowboys and Indians, Cops and Robbers, GI Joe war games long before there was a GI Joe.

These empty lots were transitory things; one day an overgrown playground, the next cut and cleared with pipes poking up from a cement pad. Men and material would follow. The sound of hammers and saws would echo through the neighborhood. A house would appear and soon, new neighbors, perhaps a new friend.

Melancholy thoughts on this foggy morning walk with the Dudes. The block south of here has more empty lots than houses and of the houses, only eight of the fourteen are occupied. Two of the empty ones are boarded up by a security company. The rest are returning to their former elements, bit by tiny bit. Raccoons, feral cats, brown squirrels and opossums scamper about here, their scent driving the Dudes wild. Turn a certain way and it’s like walking in a vast woods with city sound effects piped in through hidden speakers.

One could easily find despair here, lament for a once great city. And there are moments of that, I must admit, as I struggle to pull this house together on little more than a wing and prayer. It doesn’t last long, this despair. There is opportunity here if you look past the fearful image Detroit has acquired, however rightful that image might once have been or may still be. Opportunity if you’re a seat-of-the-pants kind of thinker, wouldn’t mind an extended urban camp-out, am able to tolerate chaos for long periods of time and can think outside the box … way outside the box.

I own a roof, four walls and a basement for less than the cost of a new hot water heater. Here is what it looked like before I arrived. The electricity was, finally, turned on last week and I’ve begun rewiring the place. The back bedroom is completely rewired, there are several lights and outlets in the basement and overhead lights in the bathroom, kitchen, landing and a motion sensor light over the back door. There’s a new door on the front, the old front door is on the back, complete with kitty door for the critters.

<--Old Door New Door-->

I’m hunkered down in that small back bedroom, insulated against the coming winter. A makeshift kitchen and entertainment center sits in what will one day be my dining room. I’ve done the measurements and, when the Witch of November comes calling, I can move it all into that small bedroom.

Now that I have some light, it’s time to start working on the water problem.