The husband and I were able to go back to Michigan, our native land, this summer for about two weeks. It’s the first time we’ve made the trip since we moved away last August and it was amazing to get away.
Sometimes though, it’s hard to go home. People have busy lives and are trying to fit you in, and while you are loved and wanted, there are times when you just don’t quite belong anymore. You don’t have a place to call your own really. It can be uncomfortable and disorienting. And, for us at least, it involves a lot of driving from family house to other family house, all 45 minutes or more away from the other. Because it’s the rural Midwest and the neighboring towns just aren’t that close.
But then, of course, there’s this:
Michigan is beautiful, even more than on its surface, because it has a special place in both of our hearts.
And it’s lovely to come home. We get to see all the people we love that are so far away, and see what’s changed. we get to see everyone’s new endeavors succeeding. My Mom and Grandma will cook the things they know we like (lemon poppyseed cake! baked macaroni and cheese!), and the husband’s parents will take us out (live celtic music and gourmet food at a local winery!). We spend time reading and sleeping and listening to the birds sing. Last night I heard an owl hooting through my open window.
And this trip I’ve spent a lot of time dreaming and writing, and sharing my writing with my family, which was a special treat. I wasn’t quite sure how everyone would react. I worried they would brush it off as another dream of their dreamer sister/niece/daughter/granddaughter. Much to my surprise and delight, they love it all.