Some time ago the Husband shared a theory or viewpoint about the geographic location of home, relative to going there before you die and being there after you die. Where you came from is where you should return, he said; in some sense you owe that place the "stuff" of life once given you.
We both grew up in New York (me the state, he the city), far apart and unknowing. Over the years we've talked of moving back East, of the pull of family and friends and the environments that spell home. That dream is no longer real for me, somehow, though the landscape still has a certain hold. We've now lived in this one spot, one house, longer than all the years we spent in New York. You might say we're no longer adapted to life in that environment or climate or ... something. At this point, most of my component "stuff" is pretty far removed from that early source.
I think the dream died when I went back, years ago, and suddenly realized it all felt foreign, not familiar or home. The green hurt my eyes; how can it be SO green? You couldn't see ten feet in front of your face; the trees made a green tunnel out of the roads; how could you tell where you were or where you were headed? Montana doesn't monopolize "big sky;" I've grown used to being able to see... for miles.
But there is an undeniable tug.
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2 comments:
Sorry, I had too many typos.
I went home a few years ago and most of the green had been cut down.
I hope this is an original saying because it just came to me.
"Home is where the heart is,
Heart is where the Spouse is,
I am at peace wherever I am.”
© 2007 Troy Mullens
Nice post.
Have a great week,
Troy
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