The Homeland

As a graduate student, I spent a month taking classes in England. It was a wonderful place, just like in the pictures one sees--a green carpet framed by low stone walls and decorated with quaint cottages, flower gardens and castles. From the rhododendrons lining the driveways, to Buckingham Palace, England mirrors its press.

During the course of the month, there were trips to London, to Stratford, to Oxford and to Canterbury. One excursion was to Tintagel in the southwestern tip, over Dartmoor, and through the legendary land of King Arthur. We saw Stonehenge, the British Museum, Shakespeare at the Barbican. We visited Jane Austin’s grave and saw the spot in Canterbury Cathedral where Thomas á Beckett was slain. We took a boat along the Thames to Kew Gardens, and visited the ancient Roman baths in Bath that still gurgle and steam after all these centuries.

My favorite trip was one where a friend and I rented a car and "motored" north for a free weekend. It was on this trip, while "oohing" and "aahing" my way through the North York Moors, and along the coast of the North Sea, that it struck me. The thought crossed through me, "This is so beautiful--but, I’ve seen landscapes just as beautiful in America."

It was on that winding roadway I realized: aside from the exhilaration of driving on the "wrong" side of the road, traveling the coast of England was a lot like traveling the coast of New England. And though they sported purple heather and wild horses, the moors were formed by glaciers just like the moraines of Michigan and Ohio and much of the northern United States.

Of course, there is more to traveling than scenery and geography. There is no substitute for experiencing another culture, observing how they solve the problems all humans encounter, coming to an understanding of their viewpoints on issues, and partaking of the unique contributions they make to taste and style.

I grew fond of malt vinegar on my "chips," and I haven’t tasted a scone that held a candle to those of England. I enjoyed walking to the "news agent" everyday, and eating Ploughman lunches at local pubs, but I did resolve, right there on the coast highway, to appreciate my own country just a little bit more when I returned.
I guess its a human tendency to get bored by what is too accessible, or familiar, human tendency to look for the thrill. It’s a shame really. We miss a lot, I fear, and waste the precious time life bestows on us, in our frantic pursuits.

A few summers back, I took a trip with my mother to Mackinac Island, coming back through Traverse City and the Leelanau Peninsula. We climbed Lookout Point and toured the Grand Hotel. We rented a horse-drawn buggy to drive around the Island. We drove the 5-mile bridge that spans the Straits of Mackinac, uniting the Upper and Lower Peninsulas. We bought souvenirs and postcards and nutty fudge.
We ate the nectar-like cherries of Kewadin, and toured the wineries of Leelanau County. We watched the sun set over Traverse Bay from a top-floor, glass-walled restaurant.

I’ve never had such good perch as I ate on the Island, and Sleeping Bear Dunes could surely challenge the White Cliffs of Dover. I read about the glaciers that helped form the land and the legend of the mother bear and her cubs who swam Lake Michigan to escape a fire. The “mother” still waits upon the shore looking across the water for her cubs who tired and drowned just short of safety. Small islands commemorate the spots where they were lost.

I stand looking over the lake and could as easily be looking out from the ruined walls of King Arthur’s mythical Tintagel castle. In England or in my own backyard, the lesson is the same. It is the lesson learned from watching the endurance of nature and of human story--it is patience and awe.

I am reminded of Claude Monet, who in his later years retired to Giverny, his home and gardens, on the premise that it would take a lifetime to see everything they contained. He found peace and contentment among the flowers and ponds, and painted some of his most famous paintings there.

I want to return to England someday--to go to places I didn’t before, and to revisit some I did. But until that day comes, I’m going to breathe deeply the Michigan air. I’m going to climb the dunes and delight in the sound of the waves lapping against the sand. I’m going to drink in the purples and the oranges of the sunsets and eat the fruits of local farms. I am going to watch the birds and creatures around me and appreciate the beauty and the people of the land I call home.