"Hiya, red!" Glenn Meteer greets me with the confidence and gusto of a man in his twenties, despite his impressive 96 years. It's a bright but chilly January day, and he is perched by the window at a high top table at a rustic little café in Maple City, a favorite hangout of his. He's just finished his morning errands with his daughter, Jo, and they're sharing an early lunch that I've been kindly invited to join. He has a wry twinkle in his eye as I approach, and I can already tell that I'm in for a fair bit of good-natured ribbing today. I offer my hand to shake his, and then join him and Jo at the table. "A naked Philly!" He exclaims to Jo. It takes me a moment to realize that he's talking about his lunch order. "With extra onions!" Jo nods with a smile, "I know, your usual. I'll be sure to remind them about the onions."
Glenn is a father of 5, grandfather to 12, and great-grandfather to 15. He is a life-long farmer and the proprietor of a sawmill here in Maple City, which he built on his property over a decade ago and continues to run. He has spent his whole life in this rural area of Northern Michigan, and has seen the landscape evolve, along with his own family. His proudest life accomplishment? "That beautiful Irish girl I married", he beams, without hesitation. He's bursting to tell the story, and it starts pouring out of him without prompting. In the 40s, there were dances on Saturday nights at the Thompsonville Town Hall. It was one of these summer nights that he first laid eyes on the love of his life, Shirley. "It was square dance night", he recalls. "I was in the front of the line. The first two partners I had, they didn't swing so good. But when I got to Shirley, well! That girl could dance!" At this, Jo nods with an approving smile. "To watch the two of them dance....was like watching two people floating." she says. Glenn continues. "So another boy tried to cut in. He says, 'hey, she's my partner!' And I says, 'she was your partner.'" And that was how the two became inseparable. "When we were out there dancin', it was like she was the only other person in my world. We wore holes in the soles of so many shoes, I couldn't even tell ya." I ask Glenn how he got that girl to fall for him. "Dancing. Not drinkin'." He said simply. Shirley had a lifelong distaste for drinking because of her own father, and wanted no part of it in her life.
The two lovebirds married in May of 1951 and spent a good, full lifetime by each other's side. Dancing together was central to their lives for most of that time, as long as Shirley was physically able. She passed away in 2014, only a few days before their 63rd anniversary.
After our lunch at the café, I follow Glenn and Jo up the road to the Meteer farm. I get the grand tour of the barns and workshops and sawmill where he has spent his nearly century-long lifetime. He points out an old wood farmhouse on the property, overgrown with vines and bushes. It's the farmhouse he was born in back in March 1925. The house hasn't been inhabited for several decades, but it stands there still, untouched, a testament to the many generations of his family who have lived on this same land.
Though he may have lost his beloved dancing partner, Glenn shows no signs of slowing his pace. With 15 great grand kids to entertain, there is never a dull moment. And while his feet don't move quite as fast these days, there's still plenty to keep that quick wit and those weathered hands busy until he and Shirley are reunited.
