Time passes quickly when life is changing its pattern. One last trip to our home for the past 6 years and there will be but traces of our life there. Our passports are in New York with our Visa applications and now we wait.
Our waiting days are spent in the place I grew up. My parents have lived here for 40-years, neighbors to my 100-year-old grandmother, with another of her sons on the other side of her. Acres and acres of land where deer roam, hawks circle overhead searching for a meal and bumble bees glory in the beauty of my mother's garden.
I haven't spent this much time here since my university breaks and it feels good to be home. My parents left us to our own devices for the weekend, but also to tend to their chickens and mow the vast land. I enjoy the simplicity of these tasks. I'm amused by the rooster who sets his own boundaries, never straying too far from the hen house, though his aggressive behavior within it has him cast out.
My children feel at home here. Freedom like they've never enjoyed in our suburban neighborhood. Here they can run outside, out of sight and climb trees, explore what feels like a forest and run and run and run. As long as I can hear their shouts of joy I let them experience a bit of what I was so lucky to have growing up. Though I didn't realize it then, of course.
I feel relaxed and fulfilled with fewer "have-to-do" moments than when I'm running my own household. I watch the bumble bee poke into flower bud after flower bud, enjoy the feel of the breeze and the jingle of the many wind chimes.
Today, however, it's back to Grand Rapids to finish moving out of our house and to take my sweet girl back to the doctor for a check-up. More on her fevers, hives and maladies in a future post.
Have a wonderful week.
What place is "home" in your heart?
