Home, to me, is a functional household. It’s four walls and a structure, but one full of love. It houses its occupants who come and go, but mostly, welcomes its family back because they are happy to be there. Home is a springboard, a landing place, a safety to regroup again. It’s a quiet respite and a revolving door of neighbors and friends and dinner parties.
Home is a place where holidays happen. Everyone gathers for food and drinks and festivities at home. Grandparents come and stay and kids rally with excitement, and mostly everyone just wants to be together. They are happy to be under one roof. Home encourages and defines quality time. It is big enough to house everyone. It’s warm and forgiving and inviting. Home smells of fresh laundry and freshly-cut lavender on the kitchen table, and at Christmas, home is a kitchen fragrant with sugar cookies. Home has solid beams in its high ceilings for structure and support.
Home is a peaceful place. It is permanent. It feels stable. It’s a place lay roots and grow a garden and grow old. It’s a place where it’s okay to paint the walls because you know you will be there a while. Home is somewhere it’s okay to remodel a kitchen because it’s a convenience that will be used for years to come. Home is worth investing in because it’s a personal investment. It is a place of creative outlet and outpouring. Messes are made and creative genius is explored. The stairway walls are dingy with small greasy fingerprints.
Home is where kids feel secure because they know they don’t have to move their things again in twelve months. Their rooms belong to them. They are not renting space. Home is a feeling of contentment. It’s a feeling of wanting to stay. It’s a secure structure that keeps the rain out, but it also houses the parents who keep out the storms of life. It’s a microclimate inside a much larger world climate. It’s a place where people come back together at day’s end, no matter how the day began, to share dinner together and exchange stories, and make plans for the next day–and the one after that. And the year after that. It’s a place where a farm table lives that hosts an eclectic collection of faces seated around it, saying grace and breaking bread, and keeping promises. It has a concrete foundation and good guts of reliable electric. It’s made pretty inside by dark hardwood floors that have been worn thin with kids running up and down them, nicked with the traffic of happy feet from years of children’s birthday parties before and unruly puppies that have been brought in.
Home is the ultimate sense of security. The hearth is framed with photos of the people who create the stories inside the walls. It’s cool in the balmy summers and warm throughout the long winters. It is overflowing with comfortable furniture that encourages coziness and cuddling. It begs for people to curl up with good books and mindless magazine and calls for them to be near each other, even if they say nothing at all. It’s togetherness.
Home is a commitment. It’s an investment. Home is a retreat. It means purchasing a property, but more importantly, it’s a way of saying that I’ll be here for a while. We will be here for a while. We are happy to be in it together because it is something we worked for, we wanted, we created. It’s solitude and solace and security. Home is a vessel that nurtures a magnitude of love that grows as the years pass.
I wonder if I will forever be nomadic.