More tales from those late night travels in rural mid-Michigan: Driving home from the airport last night we were reminded once again what it means to live in this neck of the woods. Heading north on the two-lane, after we had slowed to safely pass the two horses and pony running loose on the shoulder of the highway, we started to smell that fine light fragrance of...dirt. It doesn't stink. It's sweet and organic and reminds you of where food comes from. And just a few miles after that we see the dust and find the source of what we smell: Combines working late into the darkness to get the crop off the field. According to the weatherman they'll have a couple more days to get those soybeans off before the rain comes and spoils the opportunity.
Not even 5 miles further north came another rural aromatic calling card: Somewhere, out of eyesight, someone was burning leaves and brush. That smell is enough to make you want to stop the car, grab your marshmallows, and pull up a folding chair. A big moon, 62 degrees, and a bonfire. It's a simple pleasure and, oh, so hard to beat.
Of all the things one may go without when living in rural mid-Michigan, it's things like these that remind me of just how lucky we are. For the rest, we have an airport.
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