I miss the mitten

Cue piano music - it's the theme from "Cider House Rules."  Oh no!  Another Pure Michigan commercial, and before I have a chance to push the correct button on the remote, Tim Allen's voice lures me into yearning yet again for my home state.

Tim Allen? What's the big deal?  Well, he's a Michigander, as am I, and the familiarity of his narrative, and the fact that I know he knows what he's talking about, draw me in like our cat to the sound of the can opener.  I just can't help myself.

It's not that Indiana is a bad place to live, because it isn't.  The cost of living is almost obscenely low, the family values that established the Midwest prevail here to a great extent, and world-class education is available at a fairly reasonable cost.  Purdue University has graduated more Astronauts than any other university, and Ball State's architecture program is ranked fifth in the nation.  There are four distinct seasons (usually), the Indianapolis 500 and Brickyard 400 races are amazingly fun and still family-oriented, and the Pacers and Colts provide great sports entertainment.  State parks are well-kept, well-run, and really beautiful.  I could go on and on but suffice it to say, when the girls' father got a job in Indianapolis almost 18 years ago, moving here wasn't a difficult decision.  It's a good place to raise a family.

However, I underestimated the extent to which I would miss my home state.  We were a camping and boating family.  Every summer, and I mean every summer, my parents, sister, and I spent a week or two camping on the shores of one of Michigan's many lakes - usually Black Lake just south of Mackinaw City, or Lake Leelanau in Michigan's "pinky finger" region.  I learned the different ways to fish for walleye, perch, bass, and trout.  Dad often went charter fishing on Lake Michigan and even took me one year.  That turned out to be a huge mistake because the lake was rough and I spent the whole outing either being sick over the side of the boat or passed out on Dramamine.  Still, the water, and northern Michigan, draw me in like the sun pulls the planets.  I can't see the attractive force, but I can definitely feel it.

Michigan has lots of naturally-occurring lakes.  Indiana has man-made reservoirs.  Michigan has shores and shores of coast line, from rocky to sandy.  Indiana has Indiana Dunes, love it, and Gary, which, well, let's just say I don't go to Gary much.  I attended Michigan Technological University, waaayyyyy up in Houghton, Michigan, closer to the North Pole than to the equator.  Michigan has nearly all the history of my family.  In Indiana, I'm a transplant, and only claim citizenship by virtue of the fact that I've lived here much of my adult life and both my girls were born here.  This is their home, and this is where they will attend college, most likely.  This is where their roots have been laid, and to where they will be drawn when they are adults.

Still, I miss the mitten.  I miss the mitten like you wouldn't believe.  I see beautiful photographs on my Facebook news feed because I have "liked" the pages for the state tourism bureau and the Upper Peninsula travel agency.  I don't get back there nearly as much as I would like.  I keep talking about some day moving back but I can't help but be a little worried that somehow the mitten has changed in my absence.  Would the mitten have me back? Or would it be like visiting with your childhood friend, awkward, because you no longer have anything in common?  Can I go home again?  Well, it will be quite some time before I can even find out.  In the mean time, I'll just have to dream about home.