He Brought Me Peaches

Dustin and I were talking about our future this afternoon, just casually chatting about the things we want to achieve. We discussed moving, near and far, and what our options were. Arizona, aka the middle of nowhere, isn't where either of us dreamed of raising our family and growing old. Especially not in this drastic heat.

Where would we go, if we had the chance?

"Anywhere but here," seemed like the logical answer.

"Closer to family," was a close runner up.

"Back home," was not far behind.

What is it about Michigan that we miss so much? We could easily name a hundred reasons to leave, why we hated it so much and couldn't stand it one more second, but something keeps tugging at our minds, bringing us back to our roots. There are always the obvious answers: the beach, Bert's Breakfast Korner, family and friends-but that wasn't it. There is so much more, the finer details, the little things that get overlooked. We laughed together about the little coffee shops we would visit, the best Chinese food we had ever tasted-and how they would deliver late at night in the dead of winter, the wineries scattered throughout the local cities, and the fruit-you can't forget the fruit- that you could get at roadside stands in people's front yards. I've had some of the juiciest, sweetest fruits and vegetables bought from someone's homemade wooden fruit stand. These were some of our favorite things.

I was feeling content, happy to have experienced life as adults, even if for a brief amount of time, in Michigan. Some of our best memories took place there. Laila was born, we were engaged and married, and had our first place together. Then I remembered the time Dustin brought me peaches. As highly allergic to flowers as he is, I can only remember one time he ever brought me flowers, but I'll never forget the time he brought me peaches. It meant more to me than a pre-packaged pack of roses from the grocery store, more than a box of chocolates, or even a diamond. He saw the fruit stand one day on his way home from work, and knew they were my favorite. Just picked and ripe, beautiful and delicious, he selected them just for me. I can picture him picking them up to smell them, making sure he took just the right container, all the while keeping me in mind. The smile on his face when he brought them inside and handed them to me, it was priceless.

There it is. I finally put my finger on it. I was able to pinpoint exactly what I missed, and why: I miss the fruit stands, the apple orchards, the sun gently kissing my skin. My heart yearns for more moments like those, the little surprises that made me feel like I was on top of the world. Do I need to move back to Michigan to feel that way again? No, but I sure do miss those peaches.