Does Michigan Have A State Fruit

So, you’re sitting there, probably eating a snack (maybe an apple, maybe a handful of dried cherries), and a question pops into your head: Does Michigan, the Great Lakes State, the land of cars and Coney dogs, have a state fruit? It’s the kind of deep, existential query that keeps you up at 2 a.m., right next to “Why do we park on driveways but drive on parkways?” Well, grab a napkin, because we’re about to get into the sticky, juicy truth.

Here’s the short answer, and it’s a bit of a letdown: No, Michigan does not have an official state fruit. I know, I know. It feels like a cosmic glitch. You’d think a state that basically is a giant fruit basket would have canonized its produce by now. But no, the Michigan Legislature has apparently been too busy arguing about potholes and the proper way to pronounce “pasties.”

The Cherry Exception (It’s Complicated)

But wait—don’t throw your phone across the room. Michigan does have a state fruit, but it’s a sneaky one. In 2005, the state declared the Montmorency tart cherry as the official state fruit… of the state’s 100th birthday celebration. Yes, it was a one-year, anniversary-only title. Think of it like a fruit that won “Prom Queen” but for a single Friday night. It was a party trick, not a permanent crown.

So, for that one glorious year, the tart cherry reigned supreme. It got a sash, a wave, and probably a tiny cherry-shaped tiara. Then, on January 1, 2006, it was demoted back to being just a really important fruit. It’s the political equivalent of a term-limited governor. Tragic, really.

And yet, if you ask any Michigander, they’ll look you dead in the eye and say, “The cherry is our fruit.” Traverse City’s National Cherry Festival is basically a religious pilgrimage. We put dried cherries in our salads, our oatmeal, and probably our dog’s food. The tart cherry is the unofficial king, even if the government refuses to give it a permanent office.

But What About the Apple? The Blueberry? The… Car?

Michigan is the third-largest apple producer in the country. We’ve got more varieties than you can shake a stick at—Honeycrisp, Gala, McIntosh—the works. Yet no official apple. We also lead the nation in blueberry production (yes, we beat Maine—take that, lobster lovers). Still, the blueberry remains a mere civilian.

Michigan Bill to Designate Cherries as the Official State Fruit

Some states have it together. Oregon has the pear. Georgia has the peach (which is actually a state symbol, not just a nickname). Arkansas has the South Arkansas vine ripe pink tomato—which is technically a fruit, proving once again that botanists are more fun than politicians. But Michigan? We’re stuck in legislative limbo, probably because our state symbol list is already too long. We have a state stone (Petoskey), a state reptile (painted turtle), and a state soil (Kalkaska sand)—but no fruit. Priorities, people!

If you want to be pedantic (and who doesn’t love a good pedantic rant?), the tomato is a fruit, but Michigan grows a bunch of those too, but mainly for ketchup. Nobody wants a state fruit that’s destined for a hot dog. That’s just sad.

The Real Culprit: The Political Fruit-stration

Why hasn’t this been fixed? I’ll tell you why: cherry growers and apple growers can’t agree on who gets the crown. It’s the Hatfield-McCoy feud of produce. If you suggest the cherry, the apple lobby files a formal complaint. If you suggest the apple, the cherry people threaten to boycott the next Mackinac Island fudge run. It’s a stalemate that would make Cold War diplomats jealous.

Bill introduced to make the cherry Michigan's official state fruit

There was a bill in 2012 to make the Montmorency tart cherry the permanent official fruit, but it died in committee. Probably because someone brought a bag of apples to the hearing. It’s like trying to pick a favorite child—you just can’t do it without someone crying into their cider.

So, the next time someone asks you, “Does Michigan have a state fruit?” you can confidently say, “It’s complicated. We have a former prom queen, a lot of angry lobbyists, and a tomato in a trench coat pretending it’s a vegetable.” Then, offer them a dried cherry and watch them smile. Because despite the lack of an official title, Michigan is still the fruitiest state you’ve never officially claimed. And honestly? That’s way more interesting than a boring, official seal.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go eat a blueberry in protest. But I’ll save a cherry for the funeral.