Coming Home From Vacation
I love coming home from vacation. We live in the country, in a home we named Trail’s End. It’s an artistic house, nestled in the trees at the end of a long trail winding through the poplar forest and ending at the front door of our house (hence the double entendre name). We have lived here a long time and my identity is woven into and has become part of this house. Trail’s End is a special place for me.
Our house is an organic being. When I leave, it senses my absence and falls into a silent, slumbering sleep while I am away. The sounds of daily living are silenced. The long phone chats with kids and girlfriends, the sounds of food cooking, cameras snapping, book pages turning, music floating and dishes clanging are absent, allowing the house to retreat into a contemplative state, awaiting my return.
Returning home, I meet with silence in the house. A bit of dust accumulated in familiar places, leaves from the indoors trees have fallen, quietly waiting on the floor to be gathered and placed outside. I walk through the rooms, letting my eyes rest on the much loved architecture and personal belongings, allowing my presence to gently wake up the slumbering house. I open a door and let the cool air stream in. Soon I hear the house wake up gently. A creak here, a sound there, it is stretching, warming, opening itself up, welcoming my return.
I walk into the kitchen. The empty baskets on the counter ready to be filled with produce again. I reach up to the copper pots hanging above the counter to wipe a spot of dust. The pots are clanging together, creating a melody of lived in sounds. I raise the blinds, letting the sun stream in, lights and shadows interplay, inside and outside merge, almost becoming one.
Soon the dust is wiped clean, fallen leaves taken outside, the baskets on the countertop filled with fruits and vegetables. A soup is gently simmering on the stove, its fragrance floating, permeating the air, promising dinner. The furnace is humming again, the hardwood floor sounds under my feet, acknowledging my presence. The sounds of both of us return, my house and I working and living together in harmony, creating a home.
I love coming home.
Copper pots in my kitchen/ image by Dr. Justin Honce