Something I Love about Michigan

I just came back from the farmer's market, which is one of my favorite places in the universe.

I love everything about going there - the farmers that I buy from, the people I haven't seen in a while, catching a cup of coffee with my husband at Zingerman's, the other maniacs who like to be out and social at 7 a.m. I love it so much that one day I was crazy enough to come home and write 15 haiku in one sitting. (Well, maybe that was Leslie's fault, but still...)

I had a particularly nice surprise this morning. As I was sitting at an outdoor table enjoying my coffee and catching up on the week with DH, my cell phone rang. Now, keep in mind this was at 7:27 a.m. And it was my friend L, who wanted to join us for coffee. And that's when you know you have a really good friend - when they know you intimately enough to know exactly where you'll be at 7:27 on a Wednesday morning and that they know you well enough to know that calling at that hour will not only not ruin your friendship, but will be welcomed. So, DH went off to work, and I got a little time with L.

But, see, here's what I love about Michigan: I won't be able to do this for much longer.

And why is this a good thing?

Because it means the next season will be upon us soon, and there will be new delights. And while I dream of being in a more temperate climate or moving to the Netherlands or New Zealand, the seasons and the pace of daily life here are two things I adore with a passion. And yes, I have my "special" seasons. In fact, Fall is probably my favorite so I'm excited about the upcoming change, but what I love most is treasuring each one and savoring each one so much that eventually I'm ready for the new one to come and take its place. And in my family's quest to leave less of a carbon footprint and eat locally and buy from small local businesses, etc., I'm all the more aware of the joys of each season.

So, I'm saying goodbye to fresh tomatoes, huge and ugly and bursting with sweetness; goodbye to this season's never-ending blueberries, which have made me a slave to lemon-blueberry bread production; and goodbye to walking the streets at 7 a.m., picking up our CSA share; seeing Carol, the blueberry lady; and Richard, the owner of our CSA; and our standing order of "one croissant, one ginger scone and two coffees for here, one chocolate croissant to go." I'm saying goodbye to sitting with a cold drink on my porch and reading under the sun umbrella. Goodbye to snipping the budding flowers on my basil, to making pesto, to making sure that DS isn't spending too much "screen time" on a free day, to driving to the lake, to living without a schedule, to being the B&B that so many of my exchange children use, to visiting the lakeside areas where my friend S. lives.

Hello to going to the high school early each morning, PTA meetings, time to write - every. day., correcting papers, planning classes, seeing my completely, totally WONDERFUL students(!), snuggling up to DH on colder nights, sitting on my porch with a warm drink, less gardening, pulling the plants inside, playing with piggies, taking long, fall walks, apple cider and donuts, fall visitors, the first fire in the fire place. Sitting by the fire and reading good books.

We are so lucky and so rich in seasons here.

Juxtaposition

We live near a gorgeous lake, perfect for swimming and for cutting the heat on a Michigan July afternoon.

The drive out there is filled with farmland and lacy patterns of light from overhanging trees. It's both restful and good for summer music and the path sends you on to the lake in the proper, vacation frame of mind.

When you arrive at the lake, you walk from a dusty parking lot to the sound of happy screams and the low murmur of adults, picnicking, the smells of grilling franks and burgers, and the sights of flashes of brightly-colored bathings suits flying in and out of the water and across the hill opposite. There is a sprayscape, which is the source of much of the screaming, and there are picnic benches available for both shade-lovers and sun-worshippers.

So in the midst of this idyll, I sit reading about the tortured souls in The Scarlet Letter - Dimmesdale, Chillingworth and Hester dance their tarantella of doom against the background of the bright sunshine and happy play, while my son and K splash through the water like dolphins.

I think I am being punished for assigning this to my students over the summer. It really was done as a favor, so they don't have to kill themselves deciphering this over the first weeks of the shortened semester, but it's not beach reading.

I guess that maybe if Dimmesdale and Hester had lakes in their lives, instead of the rocky shore of Boston harbor, and maybe if they had a few summer afternoons together, instead of the harsh ministrations of Chillingworth/Prynne, maybe things would have turned out differently.

Can't you just see Pearl, in a bright scarlet tankini with hot pink stripes, zipping in and out of the water and joining scores of children screaming in the spray?