Musings from Michigan
Fool’s gold doesn’t compare to the riches of Michigan
“It looks so flat, so boring,” a whiny voice from behind me tells her single-serving airplane companion.
We’re flying into Detroit, my second of a three-leg trip home.
I wanted to turn around and smack this person so judgmental of my beloved home state. She knows nothing of it except what she can see from an airplane on her own hop even further “back east.” She tells her companion that she lived in Boston for 10 years, but it was too cold there, and she was happy to return to California. Figures. They’re all from California. They can’t be troubled with silly things like American geography. They think everything is covered in snow and corn. Anything that isn’t California isn’t great. But at least we Midwesterners transplanted in California are smart enough know that the golden roads to paradise are paved in fool’s gold.
It is flat in the landing path of the Detroit airport, I’ll grant her that. And it’s that peculiar part of spring where the cold is beginning to let up, but the buds have yet to make an appearance.
There’s no green. Only the dead, depressing gray of grass in hibernation, and the lifeless brown of naked trees.
It could be boring, but I know better. The weather is unpredictable. Rain one day, sunshine the next. Warm, then cold.
I love it here. Michigan in spring is so lovely, so sweet, clean, full of promise. I had the misfortune to time my trip during the wrong part: the gray part. But still there’s a hint. I see buds on the early budding lilac bush in my dad’s backyard. I feel it in the promise of warmth in the partly cloudy sky. I feel the wind push me, fresh instead of harsh. Michigan optimism for you.
Zen and Daddy’s girl
I sat in contentedness as I sat near my buddy, my dad, as he worked on his car. Until I broke his chair, I sat basking in the warmth of the sun, and the companionship. I felt a kind of timelessness that doesn’t come often to me.
Complete contentedness. No worries about what to do next, who to see, work, or sorrow. Know that IÂ am in the place I need to be, just now, living in a peaceful, timeless moment.
Blue sky clear of smog, ever-shapechanging clouds move swiftly in the wind. Imagination shows me the fleecy shape of a dragon, then a running animal, a spiral yin-yang. The same wind pushing the cloud quickly out of shape nudges the windchimes hanging at every back door. A zen moment. A nothing moment. A feeling of peace.
What matters most
This trip will be far from perfect, I’m sure. I’m midway through, and constantly have plans changed. I stress about being able to see everyone, may not see everyone. But I have been able to see my family, and it helps reinforce what I always know but sometimes put in the back of mind: that they are very important to me, and that I miss them.
My beloved grandma always asks when I’m coming home for good. She’s probably asked for the last time, and at my prompting. The answer is always, Grandma, I don’t know. Not for a long time yet. But I love you, and I miss you.
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What a beautiful, poetic entry. And a beautiful timeless moment. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow, though sad that Todd can’t also be there as he so much would like to be. See you around noon!
Very nice post. It is sad how the Americans tend to define geographical regions by stereotypes and first impressions. I’m probably guilty of the same. You may find that if you live in California long enough, it becomes home to you, and you start identifying more with it than your home state.
I’ve lived in Virginia since 1998, and I really only nominally still consider myself a West Virginian. I “feel” more like a Virginian now.
Lynn has lived here since 1996. She grew up in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, and I’ve always gotten the impression that she has a stronger bond with her state than I do. I never liked West Virginia all that much. From what Todd has told me, he doesn’t have a strong bond with WV, either.
Agreed, really pretty entry. I really like the part about the timeless moment, you hanging out with your dad. I think you really needed this break, for both the good reasons and the more somber ones.
I can’t say I share your enthusiasm for MI. Southern MI is one big mass of concrete as far as I can tell. But feel free to romanticize. Don’t mind me. I’m a buckeye now, apparently…. Sorry
I still like the idea of WV, Matt. It’s just that Parkersburg is really an ugly city. I would never want to live there again. I could live in Marietta, OH, 20 minutes away, an attractive river town, but not Pburg. I think I am past the point of identifying with states. Is this really something people do a lot of still?
Todd, I don’t know where you get the idea that southern Michigan is all one big mass of concrete. There are farms a-plenty within a 10-minute drive of Lansing, and the trip on US 12 between Detroit and the Indiana border has plenty of green spaces. It isn’t until you get to Chicago that there’s more concrete than grass. We just moved back to East Lansing from the west suburbs of Chicago, and certain things aside (we loved our house) we would much rather be here.
Hi Dawn….OK, now that you remind me, I do recall a few farms, in particular south of MSU. I must have been feeling groutchy when I wrote that. THAT never happens of course.
Glad to hear you are back in EL. Are ou back working at the paper?
I am doing some correspondent work for various papers - I suppose you could call me a hired gun. Not working full-time has been beneficial, especially with moving into a new house and all the planning that has gone into that.
Thanks for the comments.
I think I’ve always loved Michigan … I think that’s why it took me so long to leave. I take offense at the suggestion, Todd, that southern Michigan is ugly, as Dawn P. did.
I guess it depends on where you grew up, how well you liked it, and how long you’ve been away, not to mention the environment of the people, and proximity to family. Todd seems to be a man without a real attachment to a home … now you’re an adopted Ohioan? Is that what you’d call it? But your background suggests that you’d want to detach from your previous life.
I spent most of my life here, and it’s beautiful. I think if I lived in West Virginia, perhaps I wouldn’t have much love for it either. But I’m not one to judge; I’ve never actually been to W. Va., either.
I guess for me, this homecoming is just emotional for more than one reason.
Perhaps I love it more because my family is here, but I still find it beautiful.
Meanwhile, I’ll be flying back tomorrow to be with my mountains, if the smog isn’t covering them up.
Everyone keeps asking when I’m coming home for good. Until Michigan has mountains, the answer still is, not for a long while yet, if ever.
Hey, you’re in luck: There’s been nothing but rain, which means air quality is good, which means the mountains are fantastic.
Do you think they ask because they think that California was just temporary insanity or a mistake or something? Or maybe they’re simply missing you? Cause they don’t ask, “if,” but “when.”
I’m not sure what my family is thinking. I just think it’s something most of us don’t do, go move to that crazy California.
For the most part, though, I think it’s not a criticism of why I left, but rather an expression of missing me.
And I miss them. But that doesn’t change that you can’t always live at home forever.
You know what? Every time we’ve been out to San Francisco the mountains blow my mind. People who’ve lived there all or most of their lives, like Stephen’s family, it’s (I’m speculating here) almost nothing. California is a great place to visit - and believe me, I’m glad we have built-in reasons to go to S.F. - but there are things in Michigan that we value.
Things like our favorite camping spot, which is now only 3-1/2 hours away instead of 7-1/2. Spending time with my own dad, who is 90 minutes away instead of 6 hours.
Hope you got home safe and sound. It was good to see you.