When I am attacked by a case of social anxiety, nothing spells relief like H-O-M-E–not house–but home. The place where I currently dwell isn’t fancy. In fact, in many ways, it is downright crude; but my home is my haven–a shelter from life out there, a harbor from the arduous task of survival. It might seem that any 4 walls and a roof could serve that purpose–could offer a kind of refuge or a closet where I could hide from the world. Yet, while my house is far from adequate and while it lacks many of the creature comforts that I would enjoy, the things that make this space my home are far more complicated than that. Following is a list of some of the things and places that have tranformed my house into my home:
- My Garden
Both working and sitting in my garden are probably the activities that most keep me sane. I have written blog posts in which I have tried to catalog all of the reasons that my garden is vital to me. For exmple, there are health benefits in my being able to root around in the dirt and become part of what nature, plants, and seeds can produce. I have built a waterfall, and the sounds that it makes are soothing to me and watching the cascading water is mesmerizing. I also have bird feeders and bird baths. Being able to sit, just feet away from my feeding and bathing birds is an invaluable treat for me. While not exactly part of my house, my garden is no doubt one of the areas of my home that I consider to be most important.
2. My Sunroom
A house that does not have one warm, comfy chair in it is soulless. – May Sarton –
During the spring, summer, and fall, I spend most of my waking hours outside in my garden. My sunroom is a place where things can continue to grow and bloom even when things outside are not, but I actually built my sunroom to serve as my inside link to what I have created outside.
In my sunroom, there is a great big and soft loveseat-like chair that is situated just in front of a wall of glass that opens to my side garden, where I have planted a a bit of what I consider to be nature’s best. My birdfeeder and bird bath are in view from this chair, and I can also see my cherub statue from there. My sunroom has become the place that I sit, especially during winter, when I need to lavish myself with the healing balm and blessings of what lies outside. When it snows, I especially love to sit in my sunroom, toasting by my fireplace, watching the world, as nature transforms her into a white and silent maiden.
Today, after working in my garden, I spread a bit of bird food; went inside and poured myself a glass of wine. Afterward, I came into my sunroom and sank into my sunroom chair, which literally seemed to wrap itself around me. Then I began peering through the glass at nature as it unfolded on the living, big screen in front of me. I thought to myself that life just doesn’t get much better than this. My sunroom is literally the window to my soul.
3. My Fireplaces and Firepits
“If you are a dreamer come in
If you are a dreamer a wisher a liar
A hoper a pray-er a magic-bean-buyer
If youre a pretender come sit by my fire
For we have some flax golden tales to spin
– Shel Silverstein –
My attraction to burning logs is complex. In short, nothing transports me more than the smell of a wood fire. I currently live in a suburb that has very strict laws against torching things outside, but before I moved here, one of the things that I most loved about fall was the smell of burning leaves; and when I was a child, I spent my summers at camp, where night time and campfires became absolutely mystical to me. My fireplaces and my outside firepits are the ways that I keep that part of myself alive.
Nothing is more memorable than a smell. One scent can be unexpected, momentary and fleeting, yet conjure up a childhood summer beside a lake in the mountains. – Diane Ackerman
4. My Studio
During the winter, which is both brutal and long in New Jersey, I spend most of my active hours in my studio. Every season but winter, I create outside; but when it gets cold and ground freezes, my studio becomes my garden. It is the place that I myself go to grow–to listen to my own spirit and to follow its call.
Although I could paint and create in virtually any room of my house, having a designated studio makes the process easier. If every time I wanted to create, I had to wag out my art supplies and then put them back up again, I simply would never paint again. That being said, my studio is more than a set of handy shelves and other storage devices. It is the cornerstone of much that makes me who I am. Even when I am not painting, my studio is a shrine that reminds me that there is a secret and magical place within myself and that I have a package, waiting to be opened.
Being an artist is a way of Being–of Becoming Aware–of Increasing from Within–of Wondering–and of Inventing because of that Wonder. – Jacki Kellum –
5. My Bed
If I were asked to name the chief benefit of the house, I should say: the house shelters day-dreaming, the house protects the dreamer, the house allows one to dream in peace. – Gaston Bachelard
While I have a lovely sunroom and a terrific studio, the place that I do most of my recharging and creating is actually my bed. Whereas my home is my haven, and my garden is my retreat, and my sunroom is my soul, and my studio is my shrine, my bed is a cornucopia of all of those things, in one integral place.
I am a very active person, but I am probably more mental. I think and rethink everything that I do and then I research it on my laptop, chart it, notate it, graph it, plan it, and rethink it some more. 95% of the mental part of myself happens while I am propped up on the feather pillows atop my bed, which is truly a spot that transforms my house into my home.
You can never go home again. – Thomas Wolfe
Thomas Wolfe penned the words, “You can never go home again,” and if home will always be that place where I grew up, I agree with him.
When you finally go back to your old home, you find it wasn’t the old home you missed but your childhood. – Sam Ewing
Fortunately, our true homes are not merely the places where we lived with our parents. Like turtles, we carry our homes with us–inside ourselves. Our homes are actually the places where and when we are most rooted and most grounded. During the better parts of our childhoods, most of us did experience a sense of home; and in my opinion, the only way that we can become happy adults is to find ways to reesablish that same essence again and again.
There are things that we can do to our houses that help us to recreate our senses of home. As I look back, I believe that my true mission in life has been that of finding ways to make myself at home–wherever I happen to live. I am currently residing in at least the 10th house since my childhood, and I have been fortunate in that I have learned to find ways to make each of those houses my home. It is the only way that I know to actually live.
Originally posted on my blog Cottage Garden Living:
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Home Turf.”