I hate cliches. I hate when mediocre writers use them, and I especially hate when I use them. So you know it’s something special when I choose to start my column by wielding a big nasty one.

It really is true that you don’t know what you have until you’re about to lose it.

This is my last column for the Free Press. My husband and I are moving back to our hometown of Dallas, Texas, this week, where our respective families live. A lot of soul-searching went into this decision, but ultimately we realized that it would be the best for us, especially if and when we ever choose to have children of our own. (Rumor has it that child-bearing and child-rearing are best done with, rather than without, a lot of support.)

That realization didn’t make the decision any easier, of course, and as we put the final touches on our packing and departure plans, we’re also taking lots of opportunities to enjoy the best that this city has to offer those lucky enough to call it home.

I’m going to miss a million things about Grand Junction, not the least of which is the privilege to air my opinions and perspective in these pages. It’s been an honor to have had this dialogue with you, the readers of the Grand Junction Free Press, and to engage in conversation with you via e-mail. Some of you have even become friends, and for that I’m especially grateful. And yes, I’m even grateful for the negative feedback, the hateful comments, and the very vocal criticism. I read every single e-mail I receive, even those that make me cringe, because while some can be downright rude and offensive, others do make me think and sometimes even revisit my own ideas. Those are always the very best and most enjoyable e-mails. (The hate mail? They’re just fun to read, especially those I have difficulty understanding.)

Some of the other things I’ll miss the most about Grand Junction, and which I hope none of you take for granted:

I’ll miss Graff Dairy. A quick mile-and-a-half drive door to door, it’s a cold, refreshing oasis on a stifling summery day. Best thing to do on a Saturday afternoon? Spending it parked in front of Graff and digging into a thick peanut M&M’s Twister. Heaven.

I’ll miss downtown. Few cities have been able to maintain a vibrant, eclectic downtown community, and so far the city has done a great job with the jewel in its midst. I love the winding thoroughfare, the wide sidewalks, the tall, leafy trees, the awesome hot dog vendor in front of Wells Fargo. Please don’t let it become a sad avenue of empty storefronts and commercial offices, where traffic disappears after 5:30 every night. It’s happened everywhere around the country, but it would be tragic if it happened here.

I’ll miss the summer farmers’ market. It never ceases to amaze me how delicious a freshly picked peach can taste, or how many varieties of peppers and potatoes exist in the universe. I love the folks who sell those sweet, glazed almonds and the artists who paint “live,” able to create despite the crowd surrounding them. I’ll miss being able to nab free samples from Main Street Bagels’ booth and ducking into the cool interiors of a funky antique shop.

I’ll miss my coffee houses, those fiercely independent shops that are fast disappearing elsewhere, including Dallas. I’ll miss Coffee Muggers, the first place we fell in love with, and Colorado Java House and Traders and Cups on 12th.

I’ll miss Mueller’s, the auto repair shop on Ute with the friendliest, most honest mechanics I’ve ever had the honor of bringing my beat-up old car to.

I’ll miss the library on Grand Avenue and their ever-expanding new books section, as well as the staff with whom I had the privilege of working for a short while.

I’ll miss Colorado National Monument, the Bookcliffs, Mt. Garfield, and Grand Mesa, not to mention the quiet, friendly neighborhoods in the north through which I run most mornings. The sun has never looked as beautiful, and the sky never bluer or more brilliant.

And I’ll miss the great, vibrant media community, the newspapers and magazines that make this a media-friendly paradise, the editors and writers who care genuinely about the town and the people who make our jobs worth the effort. I’ll especially miss my colleagues at the Free Press, the best and most professional journalists west of the Rockies.

Thank you, Grand Junction, for your hospitality and friendliness. If the old legend about the so-called Indian “curse” is true — that although you may leave, you’ll someday find your way back — I guess we’ll be seeing you again, hopefully sooner rather than later.

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Wish good luck and goodbye to the Free Press’s beloved freelance reporter and weekly columnist Marjorie R. Asturias, soon-to-be of Dallas, Texas, at marjorie.asturias@gmail.com.