Far from the jolt of NYC’s rapid pace, we’ve embraced the slowness of rural living and the quiet solitude of winter at the lake. The flurries and wisps of snow circle in the wind, creating swirling patterns like broad brushstrokes on a frozen canvas. The soaring pines are laden with branches cradling white parcels from the latest storm, while the ground is covered in a plush carpet of freshly fallen snow. When the sun decides to appear, the sky unveils a deep yet soft blue, cutting against the landscape of bare trees and clouds that look like meringue fluff.
Living in mid-Michigan has been a wonderful experience for us. Now, in our sixth year here, we’ve reflected on how our lives have changed, our perspectives refocused, and our routines evolved.
When we lived in Brooklyn, I had the luxury of deciding what to prepare for dinner on a whim. I could simply walk to the grocer, butcher, or specialty market after work. Now, planning meals requires more thought, along with a well-stocked pantry, refrigerator, and freezer. Since our nearest major supermarket is 40 minutes away, we carefully plan those excursions, bundling them with a myriad of other errands.
I’ve held on to a nostalgic set of memories when it comes to supermarkets. As a child, I loved tagging along with my mom on trips to ShopRite in Hasbrouck Heights, NJ. With a family of six, grocery shopping was a weekly event—usually on a Friday evening after my mom's work day or as a Saturday morning outing. That ShopRite will always hold a special place in my heart and sadly the location has been redeveloped. Those trips were more than a means to an end; they were treasured one-on-one moments with my mom, weekly adventures filled with anticipation, and an introduction to the necessity of meal planning.
The possibilities for good food felt endless as we pushed our cart through the produce, bakery, and meat departments. My mom would always opt for seasonal ingredients and ask my opinion on what to make for the family. I felt grown-up and important, actively contributing to the weekly menu at Chez Ramos.
Each turn of the aisle was intentional. I don’t remember my mom ever keeping a list—unlike me these days! It was all in her head. She’d say, “Let’s not forget to get some good canned tomatoes for Sunday's sauce, and be sure to check the meat counter for Italian braciole!” My mom never rushed through the store, and that’s why I still take my time when I shop. I am eager to be inspired by the ingredients, to make the best choices, and—most importantly—not to forget anything essential. There’s no quick trip back once we’re home.
On the occasions when I shop alone, I’m never in a rush. I have my detailed list, and a feeling of calm blankets my thoughts and the sense of endless opportunities await me at the turn of every aisle. I imagine my mom tagging along in spirit, nudging me not to forget the good canned tomatoes, just as she did all those years ago—when a trip to the supermarket felt like an adventure filled with anticipation and the promise of delicious meals to come.