Can you go home again? What does that even mean to you? Would you want to return if you could?
I think it all starts with how you define home. Is it the physical place where you live, or perhaps a social unit formed by a family living together? Maybe it’s your place or origin. If you said any of those, you are in line with the Merriam-Webster dictionary.
I pose this question because this week, I am going home. As in my place of origin… sort of. My family moved frequently during the first seven years of my life so by the time I started second grade, Viroqua, Wisconsin was my fifth home. That remained my home until I assumed the yoke of adulthood.
Fortunately, I still have family there so for the last 40 years, I’ve made several return trips. Some were one night jaunts, others were two. I can’t remember any visits longer than that. But this time is going to be different. I’ve rented a small cabin in the woods for a week, and I’m contemplating the question – can you go home again?
The house, or physical place I lived in on the western-most edge of our town of 4000 looked like a catcher on a playground baseball team – a bit square and stocky with a strong foundation. It had millipedes in the damp basement and was home to an occasional mouse that scampered in from the adjoining field when the cool weather came. Registers hissed and needed to be drained when the heat come on. HGTV would call it a craftsman with its dormers, beautiful woodwork and wide front porch. Iris flanked the south side and Lilies-of-the Valley always bloomed around my birthday on the north side. A catalpa tree and a buckeye tree provided shade in the front yard, and there were raspberries and asparagus in the backyard garden.
My family unit was my mom and dad, two older sisters and an older brother. I associate the smell of a hot iron with that house because mother frequently ironed in the kitchen and that was comfort. Dad played catch with me in the front yard, and that was pure joy. Barb and Judy danced to the radio after school and I thought they were pretty cool (this was the 60’s after all.) My brother played basketball with an assortment of friends in the driveway, and I loved to run through the sprinkler on hot summer days. We had one full bathroom that we all rotated through as we got ready for school and somehow we all survived. It was a life of contentment.
I lived in Detroit/ Southfield for the longest time of my entire life, yet I never considered that home. On the contrary, when I moved to Lansing in 2001, my first reaction was “this feels like home.” But when I drill deep, it’s nothing like home, regardless of the definitions.
No, I think home is a collective experience – the structure, the people and the experiences you had. I won’t be visiting the old house, my folks are long gone and my siblings are scattered. And the experiences? I doubt that I’ll strap on roller skates and weave figure-eights around the columns in front of the Catholic church like I did as a kid. Or stop by the neighborhood store for penny candy. Or hit tennis balls against the backboard on the courts at school.
So if none of that remains, can you still go home again? If I find an older, more mature version of joy and comfort and contentment, will that provide my answer? I’ll let you know in a week.
Until then, please share your thoughts with me – what is home for you?
Home is looking down into the water … into the creek … and noticing the “very same” rocks sparkling and the “very same” moss waving and the “very same” brown trout chasing the chokecherry berry that you drop into the pool adjacent to the “very same” big granite rock that was “your rock.” And home is all this noticing and still loving it. Unapologetically.
Thank you for your eloquence. This is really beautiful from a woman who knows what home is.
Home, for me, has become a stretch of land along the coast of Lake Erie. I was born in Cleveland, mostly raised in small town Geneva in the state’s most northeastern county, Ashtabula. Today I call my little house in Willoughby my retirement home. This is the town where I spent countless hours visiting beloved grandparents and in fact, I like knowing that a couple of generations of family rest in the cemetery on Sharpe St., just a few blocks away. I have lived in other states and even in Australia, but like Dorothy, I’ve come to believe that there’s no place like home. I love your story, Pam. Hope your visit home is a sweet one.
Kate, I love your comfort in knowing that generations of family rest nearby. You’ve painted a very peaceful picture. Thanks for the read and comment.
Home is where you feel most comfortable wearing your extra comfortable clothes around the house; it is letting your body finally relax and let go and be comfortable; it is where you are comfortable talking about what you want; it is finding comfort with those around you and those who care; it is opening your refrigerator and finding comfort food; it is where your comfortable bed is; and so home is comfort and joy!
Thanks for the response. So it’s all about comfort – I get it.
The place I consider home is a place in which I only lived for 9 years. It’s odd how certain places just imprint on you.
It is odd, but the imprint can be lasting. Something about that nine year experience made that memorable. Thanks for reading and commenting.
I think you know from my own blog, that I feel most at home, in Turkey. I don;t have any physical or emotional feelings about anyplace else I’ve lived, and there were a whole lot of them.
You’ve helped me draw my own conclusion. In your case, you have been drawn back to a place that most of us can’t understand, yet it is home to you. Thank you.
First, I want to comment how beautifully written this is. Your descriptions and your details: ” looked like a catcher on a playground baseball team – a bit square and stocky with a strong foundation”; the smell of the iron; millipedes in the basement; hissing registers; the iris and the Lilies of the Valley; ” I doubt that I’ll strap on roller skates and weave figure-eights around the columns in front of the Catholic church like I did as a kid.” I was there with you, there in the sturdy squat house, there sitting under the catalpa tree in the mid-afternoon sun, drooling over the penny candy. Not only was I THERE with you, I was also in my own childhood home. Except for college, I’ve always lived in Cincinnati, and I’ve lived in many houses–only two as a child, ten as an adult. I have never felt as comfortable anywhere as I do in my downtown apartment, sitting PJs) in my recliner with my computer on my lap and my husband to my side, knowing that all I have to do to see more people is to walk out my door. Oh, and home is where you can take off your bra.
Love it – home is where I can take my bra off! Thanks for the comments and the compliments!
Lovely musings, Pam. I can sense the bittersweet realization that your old hometown will never be the same… but, damn it, how we try to wish it back! I still think of my home as my parents’ house in Upstate, N.Y. My father just passed away this past December, but my mother is still alive and well, living in the same house! It will be a huge adjustment when this changes, but I am trying not to think about it. As it is, I find myself yearning for some undefinable something whenever I am home — but everyone there has moved on in their minds. Maybe trying to bring the past back to life is what writers long to do?
Thank you, Ellen and yes, I think you’ll find how “home” changes when you no longer have a family home to go back to. But until then, keep enjoying every minute of it.
I love reading your blog …. the tales you weave are magical and the questions you pose set one to thinking about interesting topics. So in response to your question about where is home … my soul belongs in Seoul, my heart is in Texas, and my love is here in Utah. However, I was born in Missouri and have some very strong memories and ties with most all my family still residing there and I graduated high school and began adulthood in Denver CO — but my only tie there is my favorite football team — the Orange Crush!!!!
Thank you Susan. I love this – many homes then – not a single one that can capture who we really area. My soul is in Seoul – where we first met! I get it.
Home can be many places, but each place has some of the attributes we consider home; love, peace, acceptance of the unvarnished you, support, as well as others. Home can be that special place in nature that beckons you back for a visit. Home can be time spent with family where laughter, joys and stories are shared. Home can be the warmth of time spent with a truly special person, no matter what the relationship. Home can be time alone, maybe cuddled up in a quilt made by a grandmother – comfort and safety from beyond the veil. Home is stationary, home is fluid. May you find many homes in your lifetime.
Judy, thank you. This is really beautiful. Though now that I’ve returned “home” from a visit to “home”, I have a better understanding of what home is to me.