Season of change, season of fire.

Other than having a child nine years ago nothing has put a magnifying glass on our priorities like COVID-19. Since March 20th, like everyone in the country by and large, we've been on a roller coaster of emotions. The most prominent thing the magnifying glass illuminated for us was how badly my wife has missed her mother the past few years. They have the unmistakable bond portrayed in shows like Gilmore Girls, the one where a teenage mother is more likely to feel her child is as close to a peer as they are a son or daughter. They seem to literally read each other’s minds when we’re sharing a room. It’s spooky. They just get each other and love right through any differences. So as we hunkered down with all of Michigan there was one person she wished she could quarantine with, her mom. After a tearful afternoon with our kiddo who was feeling the same yearning, missing her Grandma, we decided perhaps now is the time.

As I’ve told those who've asked, this was in the pipeline. We debated when it should happen, before middle school? Before high school? Nothing until after high school? Figuring out when was best was tricky . . . until we spent 3 months in lock-down stewing on what the future would look like. 

After twelve years in metro-Detroit, we've moved to rural west Michigan.

So, the summer between third and fourth grade it was.

We've traded in our 1949 bungalow, squeezed within ten feet of neighbors on both sides, for a 1900-built, renovated farmhouse on five acres with nothing but corn in view. We're one mile away from our beloved's Grandma and Grandpa to the South-West, and one mile away from Great Grandma to the South-East, and five miles from Lake Michigan.

 

It's been a strange transition to say the least. While we fretted for a while whether we could pay bills and maintain our mortgage as I took leave from work and my partner was laid off, serendipity stepped in and gave us the perfect window to make something that sounded like a stretch a reality. The perfect house appeared on the market within the budget we were approved for and our offer was accepted. The house we sold went fast, sold for more than we asked, and closing went smoothly. My job allowed me to transfer locations painlessly. The money we made from our home sale allowed us to purchase a lake-effect-winter-appropriate vehicle and get some upgrades to the farmhouse that'll help us in the long term. It was a three month tornado of sprucing and renovating that garnered us the serenity that comes with being in a positively beautiful place with people we've been missing.

But, I feel sad about the way we left. Any other year of my life had we made this decision I would've become a social-planning machine, booking all our time with those we love to say proper goodbyes. But . . .Covid. That bastard, the "invisible enemy," as our President likes to call it, did you know he likes to call it that? He does, he loves calling it that. (Sorry, I know that was so five months ago . . .) It changed everything. I managed to have a few small outside gatherings with a few people, we had a couple rounds of giant-circle-sitting neighbor gatherings, and then we disappeared. Poof. No proper final day at work, no hugs, no parties. I barely felt comfortable hugging my side of the family goodbye . . . because of fucking Covid.

Yet, without it, this move wouldn't have been possible. Without the combination of the government stimulus, our tax returns, financial generosity from family, unemployment income, and my Covid-modified work schedule freeing up time to renovate before selling, we couldn't have afforded to move. Call it what you will, serendipity, luck, silver lining, God, whatever, but it is undeniable that without the pandemic changing everything in our lives we would not be enjoying the peace and beauty we have here. Consider me lucky in what often feels like a cold and callous world.

We have big ideas for our space, from wild flower farming, to event hosting, to photo-shooting, the list is ever growing. But most of all, when this season of fire ends, we'd like to have you over for a proper visit. Though it feels like we up and disappeared, know we're still thinking about you and longing for the nights of yore filled with good curry, cocktails, and conversations. 

Until then, be safe.