| When I was eight or nine I took a trip up north
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| With my brother, my father and my uncle
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| We woke up early and packed bagged lunches
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| And cans of pop into a cooler
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| And drove to a canoe rental in Mesick
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| We split up in two canoes
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| I imagined us as Lewis and Clark
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| Charting acres of unspoiled lands
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| As the Manistee opened up like a canvas
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| We crawled at a slow, lazy pace
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| And reached the landing as the sun began to slide
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| Behind the horizon
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| And pulled our boats ashore
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| It was still warm and we were exhausted
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| So we jumped into the water
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| To cool off as my uncle launched into a speech
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| About the history of the Petoskey stone
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| And how rare it would be to find any here
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| Then he reached into the river bed
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| And pulled one out on his very first try
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| We spent the rest of our time trying to find another one
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| But came up empty-handed |