Prior to The Great Lakes War, the bridge extended all the way to Michigan.  Friends would walk the distance, meet half way, and tell of their daily on-goings in Wisconsin or Michigan.  They’d meet at sunrise, enjoy the blue waters of the lake, and leave right after the sun set on the Wisconsin prairie; the golden rays beckoning them ashore, alone in its call.   They’d make small talk about the weather, report cards they had to sign, and about so and so doing this and that.  They’d hug, kiss, even weep before saying good-bye, promising to make the journey again sooner rather than later.  The war ended our visits.  Things were said, a college football rivalry became toxic, and people stopped making the trip out.  Phone calls, texts, and Facebook took the place of friendship.  Eventually things just got out of hand, though no one really knew how or why at the time.