by Mary Holiday

Douglas Pettibone and Lucinda Gales enjoyed each other’s company.

Douglas was 97, born six miles from his room at the Newmarket Falls Assisted Living Facility on the northern thumb of Michigan’s mitten. His once strong arms were frail, but his mind and brown eyes were surprisingly clear.

Lucinda, a petite nurse with oversized glasses and a brown ponytail, worked the 3 to midnight-shift. She was only 24 and had recently transferred from downtown Baltimore. She left an abusive relationship to come to rural Newmarket Falls for what she referred to as her restart in life.

For the past six months, Lucinda has enjoyed the quiet of the small town and the friendly people. She also enjoyed learning about the residents. Each life was a different story, a movie waiting to happen. One afternoon in early November, in the lobby near the aquarium, Douglas inched his wheelchair in Lucinda’s direction as she removed Halloween decorations from the lobby windows.

“Hello Mister Pettibone.”

“Young lady, in the blink of an eye, you’ll be taking down Christmas decorations.”

She smiled and dropped a black cardboard witch hat into a plastic bin with the words Halloween/decorations written on the lid. She shut the lid and said, “Time goes too fast. How about you and I slowing it down over a cup of decaf?”

She pushed his chair to a table in the empty dining hall and brought two mugs to the table. After taking a sip, Lucinda said.

“I never asked you what you did for a living.”

“How about you guess?”

“A truck driver?”

“Sort of.”

“A farmer?”

“Sort of.”

“A businessman?”

“Sort of. I was a harness racehorse driver, trainer, breeder, and racetrack maintenance man.”

“Really?”

“That was a long time ago before television ruined the world, and don’t get me started on the internet.” At that moment, Lucinda’s phone chimed. He pointed a gnarled finger and said, “See what I mean? Another moment ruined.”

She raised her hands, “See, I’m not answering. You can amaze me with your life in horse racing.”

He chuckled, “The best I can say is that I was a big fish in a little pond for a short time. I spent the best part of 70 years pretending to work with harness horses. Do you know about harness racing, where a driver sits behind the horse?

“No, not really.”

“It used to be a big deal. Once upon a time, Michigan was home to six harness racetracks, Jackson, Sports Creek, Hazel Park, and the others, all gone. And we used to have fairgrounds with racing, lots of them.”

“Were you famous?

“No, I never caught the brass ring, but I enjoyed going round and round and don’t regret a single day. Especially the second Saturday of each December.”

“Which was?”

“I forgot you only just moved here. Ask folks around town and check old newspapers. Newmarket Falls kicked off the Christmas season with the Merry Mile every year. The festivities started in 1930, during the hard times of the Great Depression. Oh, it was quite a sight, a tradition. The horse racing people got the idea and arranged everything for a day that brought all the townspeople together. The entire town bundled up. We lit a bonfire, and the ladies made chili and hot cocoa. The men folk had their little flasks. We sang Christmas carols from borrowing songbooks from the Methodist Church. When I close my eyes, I can see those days.”

“And there was a big horse race?”

“No, there was no racing. We didn’t even clear the fairground racetrack of snow. Our motto was the more snow, the merrier. All afternoon, we hooked toboggans to a jog cart behind the trotters, and the horses pulled everyone round and round. They were big toboggans, big enough for six or eight people to ride. It was not just the kids; adults took a turn, too. Sometimes, we hooked up two sleds to two horses and made the miles into fun races. Lordy, the hooting and hollering from the riders and the crowd was something to behold.”

“That sounds magical.”

“It was. We had the Merry Mile every year until about 10 or 12 years ago. Like a lot of things, it faded out. The last few years were just a few of us old-timers and maybe a dozen kids they could pry away from their infernal iPads.”

They continued talking until the end of her shift.

Four weeks later, on the second Saturday of December, the air was crisp at 2 in the afternoon at the Newmarket Fairgrounds. A blanket of new fallen snow covered the trees around the track, creating a picturesque winter wonderland. The world seemed peaceful as if nature had stopped for a moment in time.

The crunching footsteps in the snow belonged to Lucinda and Lester Givens, a co-worker from the 3 to 11 shift. The couple assisted a man bundled in an oversized green snowmobile suit topped with a jaunty red ski cap pulled tight on his head. The man in the red cap had his arms over the shoulders of the young people. After about a hundred yards journey, the couple gently situated the man in the center of a wooden toboggan. Lucinda sat in front of the wizened man, and Lester sat behind. Lester then put his fingers to his lips and broke the silence with a whistle.

The trio on the sled turned to see a man lead a stout young trotter from the barn at the top of the oval. A small group from the nursing home and a few people more from the fairgrounds began to trudge through the snow toward the racetrack. Lucinda turned her head towards Douglas Pettibone and said, “Let’s spread the word the Merry Mile is back, and we may have a big crowd here next year.”