The Hollywood Producer & The Gentleman Farmer

A progressive black television producer moves to lily-white Republican Northern Michigan to live with her social worker, eccentric, retiree, gentle-man farmer boyfriend. Coincidentally, it just happened to be the last leg of a presidential campaign with the first African-American Democratic nominee.

This is not a synopsis for a television show. This is my life. I fell for a man in rural Michigan – 2600 miles away – and moved for love.

Our long-distance "vacation-ship" had run its’ course. It was time for the real deal. We were on our best behavior in each other’s worlds (cap on toothpaste, no clothes on the floor, whispering sweet greetings in the morning, looking deeply in each other’s eyes) but a city girl on a farm? A rural dude in Los Angeles? Someone had to move if we wanted to go to the next level, and I stepped up to the plate.

Nothing prepared me for this. And it wasn’t the physical move or the geography. 

Oh, and did I mention we had both been single for almost twenty years?

The whole thing happened quickly. I listed my house in Southern California and three weeks later I headed north in my American made vehicle (essential for rural Michigan). I brought what I thought were the must haves (music, books, clothes, jams & jellies, boots and lots of fleece and down). I planned a couple of stops to adjust to the idea that I have uprooted my life for a man. I stopped in Vegas to visit my sister. Distracted with her life – I almost forgot the gravity of my move. I kept telling myself "this is just an extended visit so we can make sure we’re compatible." The committee in my head kept chanting "milk before the cow, milk before the cow." They would not shut up. I’m not some virtuous twenty-something with visions of a happily ever after. I’m a middle-age woman who’s tired of choosing work over a relationship and tired of buying into the notion that I had to be in L.A. to be creative.

I headed for Santa Fe. This is where I started evaluate this crazy and seemingly impulsive decision. Again with the voices, "you’ve leased your house out for six months. You will have to brave a Michigan winter on a farm in the middle of rural America in a town with one stoplight. Have you heard of lake-effect snow?"

I kept coaching myself: this is another adventure, another chapter in my life. We’re middle age and mature…what could possibly happen? .

I did not know that weasels kill for sport.

August must have been their Olympics because the final score was Weasels 50, Farmer Rich 0. This was highly disturbing for me, but gave me a better understanding of the word "weasel". Rich’s death march to the barn every morning was a long slow walk. He jokingly called it Jonestown in the barn after the weasels had one deadly night of twenty kills. The remaining animals were stressed and he was stressed trying to protect them. He became depressed thinking about the impending deaths and was not tolerant of my city girl suggestions. I kept telling him to move them out of the barn, and he, being a man wanted to out-smart the weasels.

Wildlife can be magnificent…coyotes yipping at a full moon, deer grazing on fallen apples, but it can also be like a gang of thieves. The predators all love chicken. Rich live-trapped raccoons, possums, skunks and even a ground hog. A friend recently installed five beehives, which amplified the activity around us. I walk around smelling the flowers, watching the bees, listening to the river running through the creek bed. I hear melodic bird sounds, meander through meadows taking pictures...all without seeing another human being.

Everyone here has a garden. Neighbors and friends bring fruits and veggies when they visit or leave them on your porch when you are not at home. Bonfires on windless summer nights have replaced coffee runs and trips to the bookstore or Cineplex; reading instead of surfing the net (only dial-up here). The movie theatre is thirty miles away and has limited showings especially during the week. There is no midday matinee, a must in L.A. Walking and talking has replaced television, especially in the summer and fall when the sun sets so late. Exploring country roads and spontaneous visits with friends is the norm.

We have deep conversations in the middle of the night.

Cooking on an old Home Comfort stove has replaced my Thai takeout and pizza runs I made in L.A. I was craving this: running a home with my partner and planning our future.

I admit the first six months were challenging and difficult. I had underestimated adjusting to another person after all this time of living alone. I felt unsteady. I didn’t have an immediate place to land if this didn’t work out. My partner is retired. We are together everyday, all day. And we both were used to being totally independent.

We worked through the too much togetherness. He religiously walks three miles every morning. He sometimes invites me or leaves me to sleep. Sometimes I invite myself and share this beautiful gift of nature at sunrise. We know each other’s routines and what buttons not to push. I do miss our e-mails and telephone visits when we lived apart.

Sometimes people stare and smile. Other times they just stare. Being the "only" in a small town feels isolating. I’ve heard the "N" word a few times. The conservative political climate is something new for me coming from L.A. Honestly, I feel like a stranger in a strange land. A black man running for president brought out all kinds of emotions in people here and I heard about it. After John McCain paraded out Sarah Palin at the convention, one Republican neighbor told us, "McCain is crazy, but I’m still not votin’ for no nigger."

Northern Michigan has a thriving artists community. I have found my peeps about thirty miles north of our small town. There’s a great coffee shop with wi-fi, an artist loft and gallery, big box stores, a winding river, and a beautiful bay on Lake Huron. The lake is magnificent; fresh water, sugar sand, unpopulated and ninety miles across. There’s an indoor tennis facility with a USTA league, lots of restaurants and a community of hard working people.

Spring is here but I’ve been warned – don’t put away the down vests or the long underwear just yet! Mother Nature in Northeast Michigan has a way of sneaking in a late spring snowstorm or frost or even a blizzard. I love how the locals revel in telling me how this winter has been the most brutal in decades. That even they are sick of the cold – "but don’t judge us by this winter" they say.

Fast forward. I am eight months into my re-invention. Life is very good on the farm and in Northern Michigan. I have "busted out of the barn" and ventured out into the community.

Ultimately, we were right. We have survived each other’s quirks and stubbornness. Our goals and dreams are very similar. An exterior remodel is underway. I found work that I love. We both care about each other and look forward to a long future together.