A Letter to Michigan

a love letter to the life left behind— and the reasons I’ll run back

farm fresh eggs…presents from my chooks

Dear Michigan,

I'm writing this on the way out of your embrace, and I already know: I will miss you until I return.

Not the winters — let's be honest — but nearly everything else. So before the road carries me south, let me say it properly. All of it.

The Girls

it started, as it always does, with chicken math.

you go to Tractor Supply or Family, Farm and Home during chick days with the intention of getting a half dozen because let’s be honest, you just need a couple eggs. but then those little babies tug at your heart — and you see the illustrations of them all grown up, and imagine those eggs that don't need coloring at Easter... a beautiful basket of them piled high on the counter.

lavender chickens. polish with the huge feathered pompadour. millefleur banties. black copper marans. leghorns like foghorn leghorn of cartoon lore. sweet, motherly little buff orpingtons. auracanas and americanas with the blue and green eggs.

chicken math is how 6 turns into 22. 😄

and those eggs — white, pink, green, blue, brown... chocolate brown — filling a basket on the counter like the most beautiful still life I never had to paint.

they were free range, no lights... we all deserve a vacation. and they had their routines: waiting below the cherry tree as we picked, hoping for a stray. and when one of them actually got a cherry — oh, the spectacle of it! — off it would run with the cherry stuck on its beak, the others chasing it around the yard in hot pursuit. lol! circling the apple and pear trees on lawn patrol. they were menaces for the garden — but they cleaned a watermelon rind down to a thin sheet, little zero waste machines.

on the hottest days they could be found lounging in the peony row or underneath the antique wooden panel truck parked next to the pole barn, feathers ruffled against the heat. always a place to find refuge from predators — and when they got adventurous, climbing underneath the neighbor's cow fencing to scratch through the barnyard treasures for protein rewards.

and they would come run-ning — full tilt, wings out — whenever they heard me call a short and simple "HI!"

being a city girl from Pennsylvania moving to the country made the livestock part a little real to me. we raised broilers a time or two. the very first time we fixed a chicken we'd raised for a birthday dinner — i cried. i LOVE chicken... but my mind kept going to the wobbly-legged chubby chick instead of a neatly packaged chicken from the grocery store. not sure this story is for everyone, but it is a fact of life — and something that made this city girl grow up overnight. ever since, it's made me truly appreciate the ultimate sacrifice they make — and extremely mindful of never wasting that precious sacrifice.

it was always so ironic to see them running around the open flame... sometimes a fleeting feeling of guilt knowing what was on the grates.

raising chickens — and even a pig — delighting in the antics of both.

The Garden

rows of sweet corn — some for us, some for the chickens. and potatoes! my absolute favorite... like Christmas came early when you dig them up in the fall to see what they look like. not always your typical shape from the grocery store — knobs and twists— and soooo crisp! like an apple! even a heart! perfect, as if it was sending a message it loved me back.

tomatoes for canning and fresh eating, heirlooms in every color imaginable. peppers to spice up the dishes — bell peppers in all colors and sizes, not just hot. garlic and onions planted a time or two. yellow pear tomatoes for topping homemade focaccia. the huge amounts of zucchini and squash from just a handful of plants. make it stop!! #iykyk beautiful eggplants in different shapes, sizes and shades of purple. gigantic sunflowers — grown, of course, for beauty, shade and seeds for me and the chickens. muskmelon and watermelon a plenty.

my herb garden lived in a whiskey barrel. a cook's garden, really — the whole property was the fantasy of a cook made real.

planting my herb garden and hanging my baskets in the spring, watching the row of peonies welcome summer — and the snowball hydrangea teasing the winter ahead, its big blooms drying on the stems into delicate papery brown, perfect for fall arrangements.

garden potatoes with one shaped like a heart

The Orchard & the Kitchen

picking apples, pears, mulberries and concord grapes from around our property — and what a harvest it makes: apple dumplings, Aunt B's famous apple pie, apple rose tarts. trips to the local cider mills for donuts, cider slushies, and gallons of cider for later.

making jam with rhubarb or tart cherries from our tree. and the breads — bialys, focaccia, baguettes, épis and fougasses, no-knead loaves with all kinds of herbs, spices, cheeses and cured meats folded in, baked in my french dutch ovens.

slow weekend breakfasts — tacos, or Oklahoma onion smash burgers on the Blackstone when the craving called. chicken, sausage and mussel paella on the grill.

brisket, ribs and pork butt on the barrel smokers, char siu, and the barn-shaped pellet grill by Smokin' Bros holding down the yard. no propane here — wood, charcoal, patience. breaking out the copper for gumbo when the weather turned chilly. bolognese on long Sundays. cabbage rolls, chili with a cornbread crust, pot roast and chicken with homemade dumplings inside when the weather turned chilly.

it was always so ironic to see the chickens running around the open flame... sometimes a fleeting feeling of guilt knowing what was on the grates. the Chargriller with side smoker was our usual medium.

apple pie roses

The Farmers Market

for a few years, the fantasy of the cook had a market stall.

i sold eggs, veg and my baked goods and jams at the local farmers market — creative combinations designed to convert the staunchest protestors of rhubarb (mine, mixed with rosemary, did the trick). i made rounds of cinnamon rolls, because let's be honest: that's what MOST people go to a farmers market for... not carrots! lol! don't take my word for it — the longest lines are always for the carb-loaded foods.

there was a gentleman who had to cut back on his focaccia buying because his doctor said so. a pastry chef who loved my ciabatta and came every week. one of my favorite customers. i stayed up late into the night on Fridays, likely spending more on ingredients and energy than I ever made in profit — but it was never really about the money. it was about feeding a community.

and then there was the sweet little old lady who bought a foccacia loaf from me every single week. one saturday she asked for several — and when i asked why, she told me she was moving to Texas... and wanted to take them with her, in her freezer! there was no other option than to share the recipe with her. i always wonder if she ever made them…

tomatoes ready for market

Beyond the Gate

and it wasn't only home and the immediate area — though that alone was plenty. riding the gator to see my favorite bartender and the saloon proprietor — their famous bloody marys and burgers, of course — the home away from home. TouchTunes glowing on the wall, the shortest commute to happiness on record. and the occasional detour to Rochester Hills for pulled noodles — some cravings justify the mileage. dreams of Peruvian chicken in Jackson, with the Irish Hills a beautiful emerald beacon. and the pilgrimages to the largest Asian market in the Midwest, right in Madison Heights — where the Asian cravings all began: pulled noodles, soup dumplings, xiao long bao. my favorite Italian market in Plymouth... and incredible Italian in Alpena!

because that's the other thing about Michigan — the diversity of her table. tortillas from Vargas and Sons in Flint that reviews say people ship to Texas! Mexican bodegas scattered around the state with fresh masa for tamale nights. the Eastern Market, tables overflowing with the seasons produce, food trucks…the soul of Detroit, raspberry paczki vodka from a well loved local distillery, Shinola helping me keep time and style on point. . pastries like a jewelry case from Cannelle by Matt Knio. the most beautiful, involved chocolates from Bon Bon Bon. and Scotty Boo Boo's secret menu pizza at Motor City Brew Works — great pizza, beer and craft root beer and cream soda worth writing home about. the hipster, food-town wonder of Ann Arbor

my favorite soaps from Charlevoix. Glen Arbor. cruising M-22 to Fishtown. cherry treats from TC.

driving across the Mighty Mac — a wonder in and of itself. taking the ferry to Mackinac Island and feeling the slow down as you step onto land. the beauty and the history breathtaking. the absolute BEST smoked salmon from Brevort — don't argue, you'll lose. riding through the Soo Locks in Sault Ste. Marie, close enough to wave to our Canadian neighbors across the water.

and up north — true north: Marquette. Pictured Rocks in Munising and if that isn’t beautiful enough for you… the Keweenaw Peninsula. home of Houghton and Hancock, surrounded by Lake Superior... and the best bacon in Michigan. spoiler alert: there are some great ones, but none like this, hands down. Vollwerth bacon— my Stormy Kromer hat's off to you. one Finnish kitchen with bacon that will live in infamy and a very memorable breakfast among many — and i've had many.

and the winters have their own treasures too: Lisa's pies. the little wooden sheds at Cadillac Square each December, steam rising from cups as shoppers hurry past. ice skating rinks next to PARC in the winterthe Grand Rapids Winter Festival by the Downtown Market — and that candied German artisan bread that calls me back every single year. winters in the city had their own magic — the sheds at Cadillac Square, the Grand Rapids Winter Festival, the kind of cold that makes a warm bakery feel like a public service.

Tim Allen with his siren sonnets waxing poetic with those Pure Michigan narratives that makes me miss Michigan even as I lived there. (That's how good HE is.)

birthday cake bon bon bon

The Seasons

bonfires in the orchard. sitting at the picnic table hearing the leaves blow around me — or enjoying the hazy darkness that shows off the brightest stars. falling leaves and black walnuts from the tree.

and don't get me started on the first snowfall... or an ice storm — how it blankets the landscape in pristine white fluff until the day progresses and leaves it worse for the wear.

snow covered scene with tree, picnic table and post painted in oil style

The People

hay rides pulled by tractors, neverending potlucks, margs and movies on the side of my neighbor's barn at their annual shindig. cruising down the road on the 4-wheeler to the general store for ice cream — and the small local market with my favorite maple smokey links, sticky and gooey, worth the mess cleaning up the pan. annual cookie swaps with my Michigander bestie.

family who believes in every leap, sons and their lovely ladies cheering from near and far, special little ones who make each and every home they touch the most special place on earth — and the granddogs, of course, who greet every arrival like a holiday. family and friends who were our whole support network from the day we landed in the Mitten State.

these are the things I love about Michigan.

this what I'll miss most... until I return.

with love and gratitude, ~Miche

P.S. — something new is beginning. It arrives Thursday, right here — a story about leaving one home, and the two words that began another. Pull up a chair.

[aevaura is time + presence]