Dogged Blog

Yet another predictable ode to autumn

I realize that waxing rhapsodic about fall is the most hideous of cliches, but I just can't help it.

It's not, contrary to widespread belief, that we don't have fall in Northern California, where I'm from. Autumn in the Wine Country or the foothills of the Sierras are both spectacular. I don't mean New England or Up North spectacular, but beautiful. Trust me on this.

No, it's when fall happens in California that's the problem.

Our warmest months are not in July or August, they're in September and early October. Just when I'm absolutely positively done with summer, when I'm ready to wear my snuggliest sweaters and boots and warm coats, that's when our temperatures start to climb.

Here in Michigan, we barely get through Labor Day weekend before we get at least a few days of people walking around saying, "Sure feels like fall!" Today is only Sept. 12, and the light has been different for days now. We have a low of 41 in the forecast for tomorrow. I haven't yet seen one leaf change color, but there's a golden quality to the air that takes my breath away.

This works a little bit in reverse in spring; in Northern California, where we can be well into spring when the Midwest is just getting settled for mid-winter. But anything that shortens summer is fine with me (although I know a whole lot of Michiganders who would disagree!).

Photo: My front yard last fall.

A California dog mom in Michigan: Getting our fence on for fall

Unleash the hounds, we're fencing the lower 40!

Okay, our "lower 40" is more like the lower 2, but the point is, I took a deep breath, crunched many painful numbers, talked to my landlady and some fence experts, and made the decision to invest in fencing off another big chunk of the property.

It was a tough decision for two reasons. One, the lay of the land makes it hard to fence, thanks to a very pretty but inconvenient gully dividing the currently fenced portion of my lot and the remaining acres. Two, I'm renting, and investing money into a rental property feels an awful lot like flushing the money down the toilet.

I also am on a crusade to wipe out the last bit of my personal debt and to re-build the savings I lost during the collapose of the economy and my mother's last year of life.

Despite all that, my longing to walk my dogs off-leash in the woods this winter was so strong I decided to see if there was some way I could economize enough to build the fence. I trimmed some fat in my budget, took a couple of extra small contracts to boost the income a tiny bit, and worked out a plan to buy the fencing materials this month, pay the fence guys next month, and buy the automatic gate opener and have it installed in November. (I can just work the gate manually until then. It won't kill me!)

This way, I get the fence without incurring any debt, and am able to pay for it out of my latte, new clothes, and pedicure budget -- in other words, out of my trimmed fat.

For those who roll their eyes and wonder why my dogs aren't trained to come when called, they are. But I have sighthounds, and I'm sure if they were your dogs, they'd be so perfectly reliable on their recalls that you could call them off a stampeding herd of deer with a single word. I, however, don't choose to put my dogs' life at risk in a land of hunters and fast drivers to prove what an awesome trainer I am. So please, save me the lecture. I've heard it all before.

So consider yourselves warned: Come October, you'll be inundated with YouTube video of my dogs racing around the autumnal woods of Michigan! We can't wait!

What I hate about Michigan

I love Michigan, and am glad I moved here. It's full of great history and natural beauty, and extremely affordable. But it has two major disadvantages over San Francisco.

No, not the weather. I love winter, including the snow. Fall has always been my favorite season, and Michigan does it far better than Northern California. And while I could live without all the mud, at its height, spring is just gorgeous.

What I hate are the mosquitoes, and the allergies. I lived 50 years without allergies, moved here, and started sneezing and coughing and wiping my itching, running eyes. Allergy testing revealed I was allergic to a nice little array of weed pollens that simply don't exist where I've lived before but are apparently common in every field, ditch, and garden in Michigan.

We've had a very mild summer so far, and my allergies have been correspondingly mild. Last night, though, I noticed I was starting to cough and my nose was stuffed, and when it was worse this morning, I checked the pollen alert.

Oh weeds of Michigan, I hate you. Not like I hate the skeeters, but still: hate.

Why don't Michiganders like Michigan as much as I do?

People in Michigan have an inferiority complex about their state.

One of the most frequent question I'm asked by the new people -- Michiganders all -- I've met since moving: "Why did you move to Michigan?"

Other than its economic woes, which it shares with many other states, what exactly is wrong with Michigan? The state is beautiful. It has the second largest number of sustainable farms after California. It has more no-kill communities than any other state -- 11 total. It's full of lakes and parks and has a great vet school. It has endless farmers' markets, some of them year-round.

It has all these wonderful towns that have barely changed since the 40s, where you feel like you got into a time machine to get there, instead of a car.

It has Detroit, which believe me, is not even remotely as devoid of charm as people who've never been there think it is, even though it's also falling apart quite spectacularly. Still, I've had some great times and great meals there. And anywhere that has Belle Isle is okay with me.

So, come on, Michigan. Stop talking bad about yourself. Stop looking at me like I'm insane when I tell you I like it here and moved here willingly. I haven't even been to many of your most scenic attractions, have yet to go up north or to the Upper Peninsula or to Mackinac Island. And I'm from a city -- San Francisco -- and state -- California -- renowned throughout the world as major tourist destinations. Trust me, you have nothing to be ashamed of.

In other words: Nice place you've got here. Mind if I stay a while?

Photo: Belle Isle, in the Detroit River.

Sometimes, we get better

Something weird happened to me recently. My life got better.

Two and a half years ago, I lost my mother. I didn't just lose her, actually; I lost her to a long, ugly, painful battle with cancer during which I was her primary caregiver and the economy collapsed, taking her financial security with it.

I knew even while still in the middle of that experience I would never be the same when it was over. Even so, I had no idea how profoundly it would change me -- would damage me, I should say, because that's the truth.

I came to Michigan because staying in California where everything and everyone reminded me of my mother and her last horrible months was impossible. I knew it was pretty here, and inexpensive. I have friends here, including my dog Rawley's breeder, Paula Pascoe, and my best friend Dawn Hoffmann, who actually flew across the country and drove out here with me and the dogs (a trip from hell we both choose to forget as much as possible of, even if it does make for some pretty hilarious horror stories; ask me about Salt Lake City sometime).

Still, in many ways my choice of Michigan was a bit random. I very nearly ended up in the Pacific Northwest, where I also have some very dear friends, and was also looking at the Pennsylvania and Washington DC countryside and parts of New England.

At first, just being in a new and relaxing place was helpful in making me feel better emotionally, but moving is enormously stressful even without a 2,600 mile drive. After I got settled here, I began taking on more and more work, sleeping badly, not taking care of myself, having relatively little free time or spontaneity in my days, and struggling (as I had since my mother went into her final hospitalization) with emotional eating.

I lost a lot of weight over the last 8 or 9 years, and I've kept most of it off. But beginning just as my mom's illness entered its last stage and continuing until this winter, I re-gained around 50 or 60 pounds of the 187 I'd lost, which brought with it its own baggage of self-criticism and old, old psychological and emotional garbage I thought I'd processed years ago.

Of course I knew that was a perfectly logical thing to happen after what I'd been through. I didn't rationally "beat myself up" over it, but I still had to experience it and find a way through it that got me somewhere, anywhere, I felt good about.

I tried a lot of things, not just about my emotional eating and weight, but about myself and how I live my life. I realized around two months ago that because I'm a single woman (happily single, by the way -- this isn't a negative to me) and have no children, and have moved far away from my immediate family, a lot of my personal fulfillment needs to come from my work, since it comprises such a huge part of my life.

I mean, everyone wants and deserves personal fulfillment in their professional lives. But I can't fix the entire social and economic structure of the United States. All I can do is make the best choices available to me, and I am lucky enough to be able to choose fulfilling work over simply lucrative work, and still be able to pay my bills and have a good quality of life, especially here in rural Michigan. And I'm 53. I've paid a lot of professional dues already. It was time to pick and choose.

Know what happened after I did that? I started sleeping better. I almost overnight got back to where I was with emotional eating before my mom got sick, which is to say, it is almost a non-issue. I started losing some of the weight I'd gained. I felt more relaxed, happier, and more creative. I had more energy. I felt alive. I felt more social.

I felt younger.

I still have regrets. I miss my nephews in California constantly, not just every day but every hour. I know I'll never get back these years with them, and it hurts my heart to realize that.

I miss being able to go into the office of one of my clients, where we got a lot of work and brainstorming done that's harder to do on a conference call.

I miss the incredible sustainable and local food that's available year-round in California, and I miss the friendship and support I got from those people who became so important to me during my mom's illness, or who are just my friends, period.

But as my first Michigan spring creeps over everything, I find myself feeling, I don't know... stable? Optimistic? Balanced?

I have no idea what comes next. But I do know that one deliberate decision to focus on the work that means the most to my heart triggered dozens of other changes, all for the better. It's a lesson I don't think I'll ever forget, or ever stop feeling grateful was available to me.

 

What I did on 'Black Friday' instead of shopping

I would say giving up shopping on Black Friday was a moral stance, but the truth is, I loathe and detest crowds, malls, and above all, big box stores, so it's not something I had to give up; I've never done it and would never want to. So, my friend Dawn came over and we watched It's a Wonderful Life (#OccupyPottersville!) and decorated my tree.

I went with a tabletop tree this year, because I thought a full-sized tree, set on the floor, might have been too tempting for the dogs, and I have no way to shut them out of the living room. A really lovely day, even if it's freakishly warm and sunny.

Rawley is a mighty hunter

Proud and noble, Rawley stands on the edge of the autumnal wilderness, gaze sweeping the landscape.

He sights his prey! He attacks! He destroys!

After a victory lap around the property to celebrate his epic defeat of the savage Evian bottle, he rests.

Fall comes to Michigan

I took these photos this morning, all on my property.

Rawley in my driveway:

Rawley on the path that leads across my property to my neighbor's lake:

My front yard:

The ravine in my front yard:

 

Our first fall in Michigan, and Rawley redecorates

This is the tree right outside my front door. The first turning leaves of fall!

I'm quite sure the whole Michigan category of this blog is going to be nothing but me acting like a kid at every seasonal change. From now on, I'll try to get the dogs in my photos, at least, LOL.

Off to the Ann Arbor Farmer's Market to pick up some meat for the dogs from a small rancher who has a stall there, and then have lunch with a friend/colleague I've never actually met who just moved here. Then home to let Kyrie out -- she really can't use the dog door, even though we put a ramp to it and it's taller than she is. I'd like to think it's Kyrie's autumn, too, but I'm pretty sure we're well and truly in winter now.

Also? Rawley just tried to drag one of my rugs out the dog door. To join the six towels he took out while I was in the shower. Oh, puppy. Never grow up.

Even pneumonia is easier when your dog is tired

It's good to be back in the country, especially now that my lungs are threatening to explode.

I had some kind of hideous virus weekend before last, and while I was recovering nicely, I kept having a fairly nasty cough. Then a few days ago, it started getting worse, so the lady next door threw me in her truck and took me to the local urgent care.

They did some x-rays and said I had gone into pneumonia, probably a secondary bacterial infection related to my earlier virus.

So I'm feeling guilty for blaming my little nephews for my constant stream of respiratory infections in recent years, since apparently my airways suck all on their own. However, one thing that doesn't suck is being back in the country.

Because when I'd get sick in San Francisco, poor little Rawley would start climbing the walls because I couldn't take him  to the park, and here, I can just open the door and let him tear around this lovely wooded fenced property. I sit curled up with a blanket indoors, watching him through the walls of windows, and getting up just to let him in when he's exhausted.

I can't honestly imagine living in the city again, although I said that years ago, and to my complete surprise did end up back in San Francisco. I wonder, though, if that would have happened if not for my mom's declining health.

Another thing about "the country" I'm living in here in Michigan compared to "the country" I lived in when I was in California -- Pescadero in San Mateo County, Bonny Doon in Santa Cruz County and Cazadero in Sonoma County -- is that here, they keep their beautiful, quiet, peaceful country properties conveniently tucked into the woods not far from the Interstate, shopping, gas stations and restaurants. I have two totally darling towns within a five minute drive, Clarkston and Holly. The urgent care was around 4 minutes away, as was the Walgreens where I filled my prescription.

Not that such places don't exist in California; they do. They're just never anywhere I want to live, or anywhere I can afford to live.

Anyway, I've now totally exhausted myself sitting up long enough to type this. I'm going to take a nap with my tired little Deerhound!