I am back in lower Michigan again. Back in the house where my dad was born, where I returned after college, where I began my own family, which I return to visit, now. As I return, it is with new eyes. Eyes that see the subtle and bold changes that have occurred since I was last here. Returning to one’s own “stomping grounds” whatever that means, is always comforting. Today as I walked my dog around the 100 acres, we (both dog and I) felt a renewal that could only occur with a returning to “the familiar”. We both greeted the morning with eagerness and happiness, and yes the welcoming of being “home”.
Whenever I return to Michigan it is with utmost purpose. Every hour is filled. But this week, for the most part, it is to PLAY. I have yet to mesh with people in WI as far as kayaking,biking, and hiking. So I return to MI and my close friends to satisfy that part of my life that is lacking.
Here in the red house I enjoy the nights in bed on the back summer porch where my dad slept as a boy, where his cousins from Detroit slept as they visited their ‘country cousins”, where I slept as a young woman; listening to the tree frogs, and the cars on the valley road below. I returned to my small town that rolls ups its sidewalks early in the evening, but has bustling streets at noon. I return to the lake where fishermen quietly fish from their boats on a glass-like lake in the hours before noon. I return to a small resort town where visitors shuffle from shop to shop looking for souvenirs and unique items to take home as mementos.
Here is where I call, home.
