How Can You Buy Michigan?

There is a traditional Irish lullaby that a number of famous artists have covered which references the town of Killarney in southwestern Ireland.

The song has different versions with slight lyrical changes, but the most known version is probably by old Bing himself:

An American landed on Erin's green isle He gazed at Killarney with rapturous smile "How can I buy it?" he said to his guide "I'll tell you how" with a smile he replied.

How can you buy all the stars in the skies? How can you buy two blue Irish eyes? How can you purchase a fond mother's sighs? How can you buy Killarney?

After listing a similar pattern of rhetorical questions, the song concludes with two lines which indirectly give the answer to all the questions asked:

When you can buy all these wonderful things Then you can buy Killarney.

A little cheesy maybe, but I like it.

I didn’t grow up in Killarney. I’ve never visited Killarney and probably never will. I know nothing about it. But I do think I understand the feeling of those Irish natives who sing the song. And if I let my guard down and allow myself to get caught up in the emotions of the song, I think I can fully appreciate the lyrics in light of the only place I’ve ever lived.

Michigan.

Michigan: The only home I've ever known

Important places in our lives often take on a significance to us that is greater than the sum of the places’ parts. These locations don’t just represent geographical points, they come to represent experiences, emotions, memories, and people.

The feeling you get from these types of places can border on magical, especially if the place connects to your childhood. The feeling can be so nostalgic, so mystical, that it leads some to want to bottle it or capture it or own it. But like the song says, you can’t. No more than you can bottle or capture or own the stars.

So even though it’s a little sappy, Michigan means something to me. It’s no doubt something different than what it means to you, or to other Michigan visitors, or to other Michigan residents, whether they've been in the state for 60 days or 60 years.

But if you have any connection to Michigan whatsoever, regardless of what it specifically means to you, it’s special.

To me, Michigan is about brisk nights and the colors of fall.

It’s about the smell of campfires and county fairs and rivers and fish. It’s deeply wooded areas of Pine, Maple, and Oak trees. It’s about local communities and the smell of freshly cut grass. It’s about carnivals and picnics, Michigan football games and Big Boy restaurants.

It’s about boats and it’s about lakes. Big lakes. Great Lakes. I mean, let’s be honest, your state has lakes, but it doesn’t have lakes like my state.

Your lakes aren't like this

It’s about hunting and four wheelers and snowmobiles. It’s about small schools and it's about big schools. It’s about Ford, GM, and Chrysler. It’s about sand dunes in Muskegon and fudge in Mackinac. It’s about Tahquamenon Falls, MIS, and that huge Ferris wheel tire along I-94.

It’s about farming and it’s about fields. Big fields. Fields as far as the eye can see. Corn fields, wheat fields, bean fields. It’s about farmers during harvest season working past sundown and long car trips behind tractors and combines because you just can’t find a stretch of road suitable for the pass on M-50, M-52, US-12, 41, and 127.

It’s about Detroit. It’s about Downtown and Downriver. It’s about Italian and Mexican and Chinese and American Food. It’s about Cobo Hall and the Palace of Auburn Hills and Tiger Stadium and Joe Louis Arena and the Silverdome and yes those things are all old and yes they are gone or renamed but I still remember them and they meant something to me so it’s still about them.

It’s about weather. It’s about 24 degree mornings followed by 76 degree afternoons. It’s about Spring hail and wind and thunderstorms. It’s about a May through October of pleasant and a November through April of pain. It’s about snow. It’s about slush. It’s about shoveling the driveway at 5:30am. It’s about pipes freezing and school closures and that specific freezing rain that every once in a while beautifully drapes every tree in the area in a majestic glass case that sparkles in the sunlight the next day.

If you've seen it, you know

But most of all, it’s about memoires. It’s about family times and good times and hard times and lazy times. It’s about barbecues and corn hole on the fourth of July. It’s about the long nights of Labor Day weekend. It’s about candy on Halloween and watching the Lions on Thanksgiving. It’s about Christmas lights and Christmas parades, Black Friday sales and watching Charlie Brown’s Christmas and Rudolph the Red-Nosed-Reindeer on CBS with your family.

I could keep going, but no amount of words can describe what I’m talking about if you don’t get it. You either understand or you don’t. You either have a connection or you don’t. Your connection will undoubtedly be different, but if it’s there, it is powerful.

Over the last year and a half, Michigan hasn’t felt much like Michigan to me. And it’s not because of unprecedented times, abundances of caution, or uncontrollable events. The people of Michigan have always dealt with those.

No, it hasn’t felt like Michigan because unlike in the days of my youth, it hasn’t felt like the people of Michigan have been dictating the direction of the state. It’s felt like special interest groups have. Like politicians have. Like people who DON’T feel the way I do about Michigan have.

These people don’t love Michigan for the reasons I mentioned above. They see it in a selfish sense. They want to manipulate it for personal gain. They want to exploit it. They want to control it. They want to own it.

But they need to be reminded:

You can’t buy Michigan. You can’t own the stars.