Mike Buda, longtime executive editor of this magazine, called to say: “Hey, Jim, our July-August magazine will have a special feature on the whitefish fishing industry. See if you can make a column out of that."

So, I figured the best way to please the editor was to go to Trout Lake, home of the McGowan Family Restaurant and one of Mike’s favorite whitefish dinners. I figured I’d send him the bill.

Shelly McGowan served us a great meal, but she offered a caution: “Jim, there is hardly a good restaurant anywhere in the eastern Upper Peninsula that does not feature whitefish. You can’t list them all. We have been doing it here for about 20 years,” she said.

I asked her if her fish came from Lake Superior. She said her supplier is King Fisheries of Naubinway, which ships whitefish to markets all over the United States.

“Yeah, Shelly, but I bet you this fish is from Lake Michigan. Lake Superior whitefish is far superior. Those of us who live on Lake Superior call Lake Michigan ‘Big Septic.’ However, I have to admit that your fish dinner was excellent,” I said.

It was a big moment of nostalgia for me as I sat there at McGowan’s. Two blocks down the street is where I was born, 76 years ago. A half-mile down the road is the Trout Lake cemetery where my wife, Darl, and I have burial plots, right next to those of my mom and dad.

Because I was a well-known journalist in Lansing for about 30 years, my Aunt Ruby and Uncle Bill Beaudoin, prominent Trout Lake residents, often campaigned to erect a sign entering the town that said, “Birthplace of Jim Hough.” It never caught on.

But my memories are strong. They say that the night of my birth, my father ran across a field in the dead-of-night to get the midwife, and ran nose-to-nose into a horse in the field. My dad was afraid of any animal bigger than a chipmunk. They also tell of my dad’s great talent to play pool. Mom sent him out to get milk for me and he stopped at the hardware store pool table where a bunch of his old cronies watched him run off 109 balls in straight pool. While that amazing legend still stands in Trout Lake, I also remember how my late mother, Merle, was vastly disgusted by the whole episode of the late milk delivery.

Trout Lake has a very proud past as a main terminal for two important railroads. When I was about 10 years old, I got a birthday gift of a Royal Canadian Mountie suit from the Sears catalog. I wore it to the Trout Lake Railroad Depot, where Uncle Bill was the depot agent. They put me on the train for a long trip to Argonne, WI, where I spent a couple of weeks with Grandma and Grandpa Shultz.

Trout Lake had a few sidewalks, a rarity in towns back then. I rode my tricycle down to Mr. Logan’s store, where a penny bought several pieces of candy. As I got a little older, I enjoyed movies once a week at the township hall. They were furnished by Jerry Bradley and his family. Admission was 10 cents.

I used to get a kick out of taking my Lansing friends to that old house, just east of the Catholic Church, and point out the upstairs window to the room where I was born. Now the building is gone. Burned down, probably by the town betterment committee.

Darl and I stopped to put new flowers on the graves of my mom and dad, my grandpa and grandmas, and a few aunts and uncles.

Yes, Trout Lake will always be special to me and my family.