If I ever I would leave Michigan, it couldn’t be in autumn

Every once in a while, Jeff and I ponder where we can move now that we have retired, and the kids are all grown and living their lives. We could live anywhere. Florida, Arizona, on a cruise ship.

We read the Wall Street Journal, and every week people wax poetic about living in a foreign country or in a picturesque part of our country. Our youngest son came home from his honeymoon in Europe and said he and his wife could picture themselves retiring in Portugal.

With a world of possibilities, Jeff and I always pick…Michigan.

I have a thing for water, so we are not moving to Arizona. Down South? The water is all out of sorts there, too much one week not enough the rest of the year. Also, I am my mother’s daughter so I’m not going any place with alligators or bugs you have to shake out of your shoes in the morning. East Coast? Not enough of a change to warrant a move.

Jeff and I have trouble leaving the state just for a vacation. We struggled last month to choose a place for a short weekend trip.

New Orlean? Nah, been there.

California? Wrong time of year.

Florida? Oops, hurricane coming.

We ended up in Traverse City.

We had a great time, but let’s face it, that hardly makes us world travelers.

Why is it so hard to live somewhere else?

Michigan has its charms. Right now, it’s fall that has me enthralled.

Like the song says:

But if I’d ever leave you,
It couldn’t be in autumn.
How I’d leave in autumn I never will know.
I’ve seen how you sparkle
When fall nips the air.
I know you in autumn
And I must be there.

How could I leave when the colors start to turn? The beauty of so many shades of yellow and red makes it easier to relinquish the warmth of summer days. I can turn off the air conditioning, but although the air is crisp, I don’t need the heat on yet. The garden is lazy in its last days, final blooms appearing, weeds at a standstill for the time being.

It’s cider and donut season, and that’s a big deal here. Every Michigander has their favorite cider mill, much like some people have a favorite bar or restaurant. Ours is the Franklin Cider Mill. We took the grandchildren there last weekend for their first visit. It’s a rite of passage, even if the place has changed over the years.

When our boys were little, they were a little frightened by the place. There was a giant water wheel housed in a dark, dank alcove that was used to power the apple press. The wheel would grind harshly as it lurched around, splashing water if you got too close.

Nowadays, success has gentrified the cider mill. The alcove has a skylight and is painted bright white. The history of the mill is printed on the wall opposite the water, which still grinds but seems harmless in the light of day.

Still, traditions should be honored. That’s one of the best parts of being a grandparent. I get to relive my own children’s childhood while creating memories with my grandchildren.

If we move, what other traditions would fall by the wayside?

So, it’s fall and here we are, soaking up the colors and enjoying the fruits of the harvest.

I may have my work cut out for me describing why we stay through winter, though.

Just a note: I am participating in NaNoWriMo this year. That’s the National Novel Writing Month challenge to write 2000 words per day on a novel. I tried last year and failed, but I am willing to give it another go. My blog posts might suffer this month.

I can’t decide if I am going to write my murder mystery, my fictional autobiography, or my epic. Wish me luck.