From our villages on the Western shores of Ireland, our families traveled on the same whispers of a better life to Mackinac Island sometime in the 1840s. We were coopers and laborers, lighthouse keepers and grocers, a doctor, and a druggist. We knew each other then and lived entangled lives with other Irish families among horse-drawn carriages, soldiers, fur traders, and American Indians. We passed each other daily on the dusty streets of Market and Main.

A century-and-a-half and 5 generations later, we met as 18-year-old kids at the end of the Yoder Dock in the bright summer light and a westerly wind. Maggie was coming from her shift at the Windermere Dog House; Eric was coming from a sail with his cousin, Zack, and Maggie’s dad, Mark. We exchanged pleasantries, traded places in Mark’s inflatable dinghy, and discovered mutual plans to attend an open mic that evening at the J.L. Beanery (now the Watercolor Cafe). Later in the cozy den of the cafe, Eric sang and Maggie smiled. We were inseparable after that.