Traveling through the ice house ghetto
From the high view of the road overlooking AnyLake, the conglomeration of fish houses down there looked peaceful and still. And tiny. Tiny houses. Tiny people. Bright sun shining down on white snow banded on blue ice. A winter utopia.
Me? I was going ice fishing down there, and my first concern was going to be finding my friend's fish house among those hundreds of houses.
"I'm straight out from the church," he had told me on the telephone last night.
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