Going home not only to Michigan but to my small hometown for the first time in two years was such a culture shock that I felt like one of the gals in Hallmark movies who went off to find their way in the big city, suddenly need to return to their hometown, and are shocked by the differences. I was shocked.
As my small plane flew over the rural airport before landing, I was reminded how green things are in northern Michigan versus California. Green trees, green fields, green tractors, blue water, and winding roads covered the earth below the plane.
My first culture shock came when I got off the plane and walked into the small airport only to be greeted by an alarming amount of taxidermy. Looking around for an animal that might have died of natural causes (I don’t think there were any there), it took me a while to see my parents waving their arms amid an array of antlers, bear paws, birds, fish, moose, bobcats, and cougars. Who needs a zoo when you can just go to the airport?
I’d forgotten that this was a place where you run into someone you know almost everywhere you go. I was reminded of this when my parents and I walked the twenty feet from where I got off the plane to the baggage carousel only to run into my childhood bus driver and his wife, who just happened to be there.
I’d forgotten that it was a place that gets a lot of rain, and I was forced to entertain myself indoors. In California, my free time indoors is usually spent sleeping or writing. After that, I’m at a loss for self-entertainment. Refusing to watch TV or do puzzles, I had to resort to Scrabble, shooting pool, and baking some recipes I’ve been waiting to try. Old photo albums, old family movies, and sorting through some of my grandparents’ things filled the rest of the indoor time.
I’d forgotten that it was a place where people still eat carbs…every…bleeping…meal. By the third day I found myself saying, “Bread AGAIN? How do you guys not weigh a million pounds?” I’d also forgotten that all of those carbs come in handy when running up steep hill after steep hill on my morning runs.
I’d forgotten what it was like to stop on my run or on a short drive to visit with neighbors or former classmates who happened to be working in their yards or out walking.
I’d forgotten that it’s a place where creative people take their passions and turn them into successful businesses and sources of income. I’d also forgotten that it’s a place where taxidermy is a viable career option. It seems like the airport is one of the big customers for the local taxidermy businesses.
It’s a place where my seventh-grade blow dryer still waits for me in the upstairs bathroom, and it’s a place where it’s not surprising to find bullets in someone’s glove box. Just in case, I guess.
It’s a place where, waiting in line at the popular sandwich shop, I look at the teens working behind the counter and think to myself, “You look like a little piece of someone I used to know.”
It’s a place where I can approach a bar, take a double-take at the guy standing next to me, and realize it’s a classmate that I’ve known since kindergarten. We even rode the same bus for a while when he was in Boy Scouts.
It’s a place where I can randomly stop at various businesses, some now owned by former classmates, and visit. It’s a place where I’m proud to say that one of my favorite businesses now employs my niece, so, in that case, I get to visit the next generation.
It’s a place where I can drive the winding, cliff-side road to my favorite, history-filled, pristine beach with a million-dollar view.
It’s a place that will always be related to golf, tennis, sailing, boating, and swimming during the days and cool, outdoor dinners completed with either ice-cream-cone strolls or campfires and s’mores in the evening.
It’s a place of fairy-tale mansions that are called cottages and a place that my tale may one day lead me back to.
As my dad returned me to the airport, I had to smile at the sign posted in front of the security line. It’s a sign that I don’t think any other airport in the world would have (Okay, maybe Mackinac Island). The sign read, “Please remove all fudge from your carry-on bags.”
Until we meet again, northern Michigan. Maybe I won’t be so shocked next time.
I’ve posted some trip photos below and will put a few others on my Facebook author page. Happy travels!
Set in my hometown, the Harbor Secret Series uses true local lore in historical fiction/romance stories! You can find all four books on Amazon and Audible!
Daterella's Adventures In Dating 