There’s Just Something About Home

I’m not ready to go home.” I wrote my sister in an email.
I understand”, she responded, “there’s just something about home.” 

Last week our little family traded our country side view, cow neighbors, rolling hills, and Amish buggy-filled streets for the well manicured lawns, tree-lined streets, and slightly less rolling hills of my home town.  We left behind to-do lists, work, schedules, and responsibilities, intent on enjoying that thing that seems to slip away from us so quickly. . . time.

I don’t get “home” very often.  The older the kids become, the more difficult it is to spend any decent amount of time at my Dad’s house.  Our usual trips include a sweeping in, a quick visit with my Dad, and as quickly as we arrive, it’s time to leave.  During those quick trips, my heart doesn’t even have time to feel it.  This time was different, though.  I don’t think I’ve spent six days “home” since my Mom died.  This time I felt all the good things that home has to offer.  We all did.


Maybe we all feel it when we go to that place that we once called home?  That bitter-sweet pang of nostalgia.  That transporting back to a time when life was different, simpler.  It seemed everywhere I went, I was met face to face with memories from long ago. In the morning, my feet ran the same hills that I ran so many times throughout my childhood.  City streets and country back roads where my closest friends and I bonded through sweat and exhaustion.

A trip to the small grocery store around the corner from ‘my’ house produces an immediate lump in my throat as I envision the form of my Mom standing in that line like I know she did thousands of times throughout my childhood. A visit to the park down the road plays a movie in my head of the years I spent with teammates and friends as we lingered after cross country practice talking, laughing, and becoming the people we’ve become.  Evenings spent on the deck at my Dad’s house transported me back to the countless evenings I spent there with my Mom and Dad just talking as my teenage years rolled into my young adult years.

I realize that as years move forward, some memories fade, while others are cemented in my heart, part of the fabric of who I am.  These memories from long ago are important and a reminder of the things that are most important.  I remember the people and the way these people made me feel.  I remember the time we spent–whether running on the roads of my small hometown or lingering on the deck of my parent house in simple conversations.  These simple things are the foundation of life–not the successes, the accolades, or the “events”.  It was the people–and the time spent together.

This bitter-sweet nostalgia was a good reminder for me.  A reminder that we are building a foundation for our kids now.  I was reminded that the foundation doesn’t have to be built “big” it just has to be built strong.  Our trip “home” appeared to be nothing spectacular on the outside, but the conversations, the simple time together. . . that was special.

Early morning wake-ups to watch the sun rise over the lake. . .

. . . and realizing that the water was warm enough to jump into at 5:30 in the morning, so jumping in fully clothed. . .

The laughter, the smiles. . . these are memories that will be concreted in my heart, and hopefully theirs.

Stopping for donuts on the way home. . .

. . . and realizing we had switched Chanelle and Meadow’s dresses around. . .

Visiting my favorite park and watching my kids play under the same canopy of trees where I spent many of my childhood days. . .

Even Taza participated. . .

Days were spent at the tiny beach with rough sand and dirty water. . .

 . . . but that didn’t matter.  Fun is fun no matter the color of the water or the condition of the sand. . .

Mid-afternoon ice cream breaks were a must. . .

And we quickly learned that the car wash was easier than the shower. . .

And my Dad’s backyard never ceases to feel like a magical place. . .

At the end of the week we decided to do another sunrise.  Each time we went, I was amazed to see the others that gathered to witness the same scene.  Each day the sun rises and yet each day, we are still amazed by it.  I think there is something pretty incredible about that.


It was much colder on this day–much too cold to get in the water. Or so we thought. . .

Meadow and Taza led the way into the bitter cold. . .

. . . and no one else followed.

I love going home.  I love the memories we make.  I love the time, the togetherness, the beach, the sunrises, and the water. . .

It is all so good.  In reality, though, take away the sunrises, the beach, the water, and the magical backyard it would all still be worth it for this. . .

Time with my Dad.  Time with Poppy.  This makes going home so special. . .

Yep.  There’s just something about home. . .

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Happy Monday, Friends. 

  • Leanne Barnett - July 31, 2015 - 6:38 am

    So lovely, there is something so strong about those childhood memories & making new ones for our own children 🙂ReplyCancel

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