The Comin’ Home
I be leavin’
the comin’ home
After all these years, I still get a rush when I drive up the hill and see my home waiting for me. It’s especially sweet after a week or two away, but I still get that same rush just coming home from work.
The rougher the day, the sweeter it is to see the barn sitting there like a monolith waiting for me.
Kirk Judd’s poem (above) has resonated with me since the very first time I heard him recite it. I’ve already waxed rhapsodic about how I love West Virginia, but if I’ve left any doubt, I love this pile of wood just as much. (Some would say in defiance of all reason.)
Last night, coming home from work, I was tired and cranky. Just seeing the barn lit up like a Thomas Kincaid painting lifted my spirts. Even the fact that the door had blown open didn’t dampen my spirits. The comin home feel so good.
Where is that place that you go to that provides the sense of peace and comfort? The cocoon that shelters you from Real Life?
8 thoughts on “Comin’ Home”
I like coming home too. Although my home is pedestrian by most standards, there is a warmth and comfort here, a place to retreat. I have trees and rhododendron, azaleas and mountain laurel that make this time of year at home even more enjoyable. I have been housebound quite a bit over the past two years and I have yet to feel like I am in anyway deprived. Nevertheless, I am anxious to return to the world and return home when I need to.
“Where is that place that you go to that provides the sense of peace and comfort? The cocoon that shelters you from Real Life?”
so far, i’ve carried around with me wherever i go…i guess you could say it’s in me (which admittedly only gets a person so far). the other place is a certain group of online friends….
I think it’s far healthier to carry it inside. To be at home anywhere has to be a great gift. I’m working on it. All I know is that when I’m not here, I want to be.
I think the hammock on the back enclosed porch. The rocker is good too.
Definitely it’s my parents’ house in Weston. It’s a huge brick place, barrel tile roof, “disappointed Spanish” as my mother says. The good part: it’s mine upon my parents’ passing. The bad part: hub doesn’t want to live there, it needs “a lot of work” and it doesn’t have a garage for his toys. It does have zero mortgage and high-speed internet. A garage can be built. A modest home equity loan can take care of the rest.
But I always feel so rested there.
yea. as much I like like traveling, coming home is best.
Like Susan, I carry my home inside. I learned that coping mechanism from my parents, while chasing construction work in the 40s, 50s and 60s. I have found in my rambles, that when moving away from a place where I’ve spent time, I leave behind part of myself, more than hair and skin cells. I collect homes and people–places to hang my emotional hats–to love. I often feel that “I’m home!” vibe when approaching places and folks that have sheltered me.
Being a military brat, I can’t even call my birthplace a real home. So home is where I lay my hat. That be NC for the moment. Who knows what the future may bring for me… Glad to hear you made back home…