Stitches of the Mitten

So, besides all the tough, mid-life growing work that happened back home, there were delightful moments to be had. 

Upon getting picked up at the airport, my dear friend Anna was the first person to see. She and I spent the afternoon running the spectrum of serious conversation to worse-than-ridiculous selfie-stick photos, courtesy of my friend Elise, who’d shown up to drive me to the airport, the thoughtful gift in hand for me (okay, really though….thanks, love >.<). That evening, we joined up with my parents and brother for dinner at (my) favorite eats. 

From there, visits with friends escalated quickly, as I tried to make time for all I hoped to see before heading out of town that Monday. These involved many a bike ride to meet up in town, opportunity to revisit the Arb, the long-lost tradition of pot lucking, a visit to the river to watch DIY raft races, a wonderful reunion in my college city, a stop at my old home, farm and bakery (Kismet) and even taking attempting to relive my past life as a DDRer. 

Motorcycle jaunt with Louis before his Burning Man adventure!

Vegan Potluck with George

DIY Raft Race

Snazzy Spectators of Ritzy Rafts

Long overdue reunion with Maggieface!

Grand Rapids excursion with my brother on the way up North

A beautiful conversation with my soul sister, Lori

Bounty from the Bakery!

And of course, as many cat snuggles as I could muster. 

As much as I have mixed feelings about leaving the quietude of Packwood, I’m also excited to have a larger variety of cultural experiences accessible to me again. One thing I do enjoy about my hometown is that there is always something going on in the Diag, whether it be the Hari Krishnas that chant all day long or some special evening class in the grass. It happened that one night while I was back, there was such a class: African Dance. My mom had heard about this weekly offering a while back and had decided to finally check it out, so her and I went down together. As we were waiting for it to begin, more and more people began to gather; far more than she had seen when passing by at any other time. Come to find out, we’d stumbled into the last class the session, bringing in people from all over the state to do a couple grand finale dance sequences. Yet besides the sheer mass of people that made it hard to see the leader at the front, the event was very accommodating to new-comers. We started out doing a sort of yoga-like warm up with a woman that used to be part of a local drum and dance group I knew of and then immediately went into a dance led by beaming man, full of that exhuberant African tribal joy. He broke each portion down into manageable sections and by the time we were running through the whole thing, I’d decided I wanted to find a dance class back in WA. There is something about the rhythm of African dance that feels so primal and natural. The gestures exude this generosity and graciousness for the planet and each step falls on a beat that seems to anchor my body into the planet more consciously than any other dance I’ve experienced. Later, we moved on to a much faster, more complex dance that I did not manage nearly as gracefully. But I really do think I found my match (albeit I don’t have much going for me in the department of hip action, which is highly emphasized in some styles). 

Afterwards, my mom and I grabbed a bite at the new Hopcat that opened up in town, a popular bar I’d never made it to in Grand Rapids when I was going to school (since I seemed to do the whole college-drinking experience thing backwards). Not only was their food tasty (their fries were not called crack fries for no reason) but they had a few MI ciders I’d not heard of, bringing to my attention that I had an important investigative mission to attend to while in the state. 

Being the third largest producer of apples in the US, the mitten is a must for anyone in the business of cider sampling. Before I’d left the state, I hadn’t been familiar with much more than the widely distributed ‘JK Scrumpy’ or the very hard-core funky-fresh ‘Virtue’. I’d been introduced to Vandermill on my last visit home, but that’s about it. 

Adventures in cider included a comprehensive tasting of all the Vandermill cans (althoguh I didn’t manage to get to their tasting room just West of GR), a discovery of a surprising new favorite in ‘Blake’s’ Habanero Mango flavor, and a visit to three different cideries. 

The first cidery visit fell on a drab rainy day up north. It was the afternoon that my brother and I had made it up to the house my parents had rented for the week, and the rain had not let up all day. While the guys were perfectly content to quietly while away the hours in their own time, my mom and I thought it as good a day as any to treat ourselves. I think it was also her way of trying to connect at that point, and less about her interest in the stuff. Tandem’s tasting room is situated in a quaint barn just outside of Suttons Bay. Quite a few other tourists had the same idea for getting out of the weather that day, and the place was pretty packed. Once we sat down though, we were graced with quite an extensive menu of at least a dozen ciders, from bone-dry to syrup-sweet. They’re definitely a place that has something for everyone. I actually found the greenman, - a drier, tart cider made only with green apples - to be a favorite, along with their sweet, summery ‘Smackintosh’ and their Cyser, which was much more clean and crisp than other mead-type drinks I’d had. We took our time tasting each and every one, including the far-too tart cherry (that is actually perfect when you mix it with a sweet, though). I would say, in terms of the versatility of sweetness, these guys were high-ranking. Our second cider visit occurred during our day trip to Traverse City. That morning, we roamed the local farmer’s market and a local art gallery before hunger struck some of the group. Conveniently enough, just across the street from the gallery was ‘Northern Naturals’ a cidery that also happens to have a delicious food menu. While the rest of the family was less than interested in the ciders, I got the full tasting spread and enjoyed a bit of cider chat with our waitress, who reminded me a lot of Stacey back in Packwood. The ciders here were more crisp and there certainly weren’t any “apple juice’’ ones, but the complexity was far superior. They had very subtle flavor profiles, one being lavender, one with orange blossom and one that even smelled and tasted slightly like pink lemonade. Beyond the tastes, the atmosphere was thoroughly enjoyable.The cider house was decked out in old wood, repurposed for chairs, tables and artwork. Bark planters hung on walls and the place supported a local ceramic artist by having a membership program that utilized her hundreds of mugs that hung on the walls. For an annual price, you get a mug and $5 fills on it.

I think I was the only one taking in the experience with much interest, but I did my best to find the enjoyment amongst split interests. As much as my family may fail to understand, I like cider for more than just the cider. A good product serves its purpose beyond being a thing. It is part of a greater culture, ambiance, a tool of community building. I like the sorts of people that it tends to bring together, and the values that seem to pair with it. 

The final cidery I explored while home was back towards Grand Rapids, after the up north excursion. Ridge Cider Co. has been open for a mere three months, but their tasting room is incredible! On one end, they collect and press all the apples and on the other, they do all the fermentation. In between is a long bar, full service tables and couch seating for finger foods and a large stage area for local musical acts. Since we were there in the afternoon, there wasn’t much going on and one of the workers mark, was able to talk to us quite a bit about the different kinds they had on tap. Favorites ended up being the Hopped cider and the ‘Summer Squeeze’. 

Overall, I think that MI has some catching up to do, by way of winning my apple-flavored heart. But I sorely wish I could have left with some of that Habanero Mango! 

Rewinding northward, highlights included BIKING. The nearest towns to our rental house were 6 miles in either direction, so my mom and I took a shot at biking into either one over the few days we were there. While one direction was relatively flat, I actually found the roller-coaster route to be for more energizing and engaging. However, it was definitely a one-way trip. I’m determined to get a bike when I move and build up a more satisfying level of stamina. 

And of course, there was the water. Although I spend very little time physically in water, I am very much a water person. Put me on the shore of a rushing stream or crashing waves, and time will escape me. As majestic and emotionally powerful the Pacific has become for me, Lake Michigan will always be my first love. It was my training wheels for learning to commune with water. This is where the attraction began. 

I didn’t get nearly enough time at the lake. However, the places of respite that I was able to find were perfect. One such spot was on a hike up Whaleback Hill with the family. The small 1.5 mile loop ran along a steep, sloping tree-line that taunted me with strips of blue hue. As the loop began to veer further away, the water called to me. I saw the slightest indication of a trail then, plunging down the hill into the woods and entranced, I pursued the sound of waves. I slipped and slid, and finally came down to the final row of thick brush, leading to a completely secluded shoreline of smooth rock. I had my moment of solitude before an older adventurer with a camera stumbled out of the same less-treaded path that I’d discovered. He turned out to be a Vetranarian from the Yakima area and had gone to school in MI. Small world. 

For the last night of my stay up North, our family friend Leora came to join us. Tensions within the family aside, we had an enjoyable dinner in town, and an appropriately hilarious introduction game of ‘Cards Against Humanity’ with her and my parents. 

Mother also bought this spiffy new Backgammon board!

And above it all, the planet earth presented some fantastic visions: 

The next day, I made my way back south, to meet up with George for one final adventure: DIRTWIRE! 

Over the last couple of months, the music of Dirtwire had become deeply rooted in my heart. When I discovered that they would be a mere few hours south of me while I was back in Michigan, there was no question of whether or not to make the trip. So on Sunday afternoon, George and I drove down to Columbus, OH to meet up with his friend Madeline for dinner before the concert. George’s magic work had frequently taken him to the city, so he knew of some nifty digs. Whole World had amazing vegan and vegetarian fare, including a tempting bakery selection and super rad art on the walls. Afterwards, we wandered aimlessly for a little bit before passing ‘the BIG fun’ toy store. There, they had everything imaginable, from collectable Muppits and action figures, puzzles and games, to gag gifts like poorly crafted poop yogurt. I don’t know about BIG sized fun, but it was definitely a worthwhile way to pass the time. Probably would have upgraded to BIG fun if I’d accepted a bag for my purchase; George informs me they put in free gag gifts. 

I wanted to be sure to get to the venue right when the doors opened, not knowing how crowded it would be and determined to get a front-row spot. There was next to no-one there at the start, so we sat with some drinks and George broke out a few card tricks. There was a DJ on stage, who would turn out to be one of five opening acts before our dear headliners. It was a long wait, but for the most part, the music was good. I’d come to appreciate the different aspects of DJing via the passions of Leo, Lewis and Brian and I loved to watch the way that the DJ’s head would start to get lost in the beats and the transitions as I imagined their body giving over to their art the same way I feel when I fall into a dance rhythm or a drum circle. My enjoyment is less about whether or not it’s music that I’d normally listen to, and more about watching a person become enveloped by their passion. That being said, I definitely took to some more than others. DJ Yheti, for instance seemed to have a much more melodic and unique set of sounds to work with, which I enjoyed. 

The only opener that killed the vibe for me, was actually the band of the man who ran all the music at the Saloon. It was way out of place. Before I knew it, we went from crazy beats to head banging noise. As his first song began to play, he slipped on a gas mask and let down his dreads. As the set progressed, the Gas Mask flew off, along with his shirt, as he flailed his hair and made ineffective gestures on the keyboard in front of him while most of the vocal talent was pre-recorded pop music. Can’t win em all. 

Fortunately, the act before Dirtwire ended up being none other than ‘Dixon’s Violin’ a local musician I’d had the opportunity to experience at the Serendipity Yoga Festival a few years ago. Dixon not only has an amazing musical talent, but being close friends with some of my friends, shares that deeply-felt authentic presentation of self that our mutual connections share. He brought that humility and honesty with him to the stage, and repaired the flow from the defunct act beforehand. 

And then, shortly past midnight, the moment I’d been waiting for. 

Some bands are not necessary to see live. In fact, some are arguably worse after seeing them live. Seeing Dirtwire induced neither ambivalence nor disappointment. On the contrary, I fell in love with their music even more. David and Evan have a very grounded stage presence. As soon as they began to play, I became imbibed with the rhythm, falling immediately into dance. But I wasn’t the only one. They had their whole audience captivated. Between sets, they would talk about the different instruments they use but even during their performance, it all felt like one big conversation with the crowd. Afterwards, I was able to get in a brief word each of them and share my admiration. It was an amazing night and I would see them again in a heartbeat. 

And then the last day came. Going out with tradition, I held a game night at my house. This time however, the group was a mixed bad of old and new friends. Especially since I don’t know when I will be back in MI again, it was nice to make face-to-face reconnections with people I’d been able to keep in my life, only through the virtual powers of Facebook. 

Game night cooking!

I was not dragging my heals at the airport, looking back a million times to wish I had just a moment longer. I had all of the moments I needed. Sure, there are things I can’t take. The water. My cat. A few good restaurants (and that damn good cider!). But the most important things will be traveling with me. Through all of the people I was able to see back home, I realized it wasn’t in MI that I longed to reside, but in the connections.

Whether it was family, with all of our flaws and differences, close friends with whom I can always pick right back up with, or lost connections with those from another part of life, I love all of you and for that, I was grateful to be home..