Imported autumn: Fixin’ to rake some leaves

So there we were, lawn tools in hand, getting a little yard work done, when our suburban Dallas neighbor – we called him Bubba and he didn’t seem to mind at all – looked over and asked, rather incredulously, “What’re y’all doin’?”

“We’re raking up our leaves,” we said, beaming.

“Leaves?” he asked.

“Yes, from trees,” my wife, Jo Ann, told him.

“Trees?” he asked, looking at the only two excuses for trees in our front yard, little ornamental things that would stay green all year long, even when the grass turned in early October. That’s how you can tell it’s fall in Texas – the grass goes from green to a dull shade of brown.

“From Michigan,” I explained. “These are leaves from trees back home. Up North. Aren’t they beautiful?”

“Ah giss,” he said, meaning, I think, “I guess,” though I was never quite certain of anything he said. I didn’t stay long enough to learn to speak Texan, leaving well before the y’alls and fixin’-tos kicked in.

Truth be told, in the four years we spent in Dallas before returning to Michigan in 2001, there were some things about home that we never stopped missing. One of them was the change of seasons, especially summer to autumn. Which is why every fall a box would arrive on our doorstep, delivered by UPS. Sent by relatives, it was packed with leaves.

Now as anybody who has been lucky enough to rake the yard knows – and trust me when I say you shouldn’t complain about that job until you no longer have to do it – you can pack a huge pile of leaves into your average 55-gallon trash bag. So imagine how many were jammed into a book box.

The thrill began as soon as we opened it up and caught a whiff of home among the myriad colors. From shades of ornate gold to deep, spectacular crimson to beautiful burnt orange – a particular favorite among the University of Texas (Hook ’em Horns) alums – they lit a lawn preparing to hibernate for the few short months of fall and winter.

Bubba never did quite understand what we were up to, and we never felt compelled to explain. All that mattered to us was that while a lot of our friends and family were hitting the road for their annual color tours, we at least got to rake some leaves into a big pile, kick our feet through them and listen to them swish and crunch and crackle, then do it again. Best of all was teaching the kids in the neighborhood how much fun a pile of leaves could be.

Whoever said absence makes the heart grow fonder must have been as homesick as we were after four years. Since returning, we’ve learned to appreciate the beauty and uniqueness of each Michigan season.

There’s something mighty special – as they say in Texas – about September in Northern Michigan, when Mother Nature goes psychedelic with all those colors. It’s not enough to look out the window and be thankful that our world is an image on a postcard. We feel compelled to hop in the car, ride our bikes or take a hike to drink in as much of this beauty as our senses can handle – like nourishment that will sustain us through another winter until the buds appear on the trees again, and we whisper to ourselves, “It’s about (expletive) time.”

This issue of True North we dedicate to the most beautiful of our Michigan seasons. Turn the pages and find some special places to enjoy the splendid scenery – places recommended not so much by us, but by people who live Up North, surrounded by beauty each day but never taking it for granted.

As usual, you’ll meet some Northern Michigan people worth getting to know as well. Like Lenny Puzewicz, who learned to carve antlers and ivory among the Inuit and Eskimo natives – and took his art to new heights. Like Pam Phipps, the first golf pro at the renowned Black Lake Golf Club, who disabuses us of some of the most commonly held “rules” for that perfect swing. Like Charlie and Linda Ash, who really know how to throw a party at their Houghton Lake “cottage.” And like Del Vaughan and Barry Stutesman, who have brought Michigan, and now the nation, those homespun stories of people, history and events across our state.

Enjoy, too, another My Hometown essay, this one by Jeff Vande Zande, a poet, author and creative writing instructor at Delta College. In the latest in a series of stories about special places in Northeast Michigan, Vande Zande writes hauntingly about Flashlight Bend and Rabbit Run, places both real and mythical – and quite possibly the closest thing to utopia we have in Michigan.

We’ll meet again with our Winter 2006 edition, on newsstands in November. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to rake some leaves.