Home . . . There's No Place Like It

Homestead Trail Dimond Ridge Homer, Alaska

My son’s boyhood friend’s little girls excitedly chatter at me as I forage the forrest floor for autumn berries near their house. The seven year old assures she knows where the best patch is located and prompts her four year old sister and me to follow her down a trail that leads away from their home. Distracted by the sound of a chainsaw, the four year old turns back to watch her daddy build an evening fire. I smile as I return to filling my bucket and listening to the sweet prattle from the berry-stained mouth of lil miss seven year old.
​
Their grandma, my longtime friend, makes her way through the woods toward us with her bucket filled with cranberries she intends to jam. We say our goodbyes to the littles and her son and daughter-in-law and drive toward the beach for a stroll before the sun sets.

I’ve been home from work now since the end of September and I’ve filled my free time with simple pleasures that lend to content my heart and mind. Though my cousin asked me to accompany him and his wife to Mexico for the month of October and a friend extended an invitation to sail the Baja Haha the first two weeks of November and kind loved ones reminded me of their open invitation to relax in and explore Arizona for as long as my heart desires . . . bold adventuring enticed - but, home won over.

I’ve spent most of this past year flying from one remote work site to the next, sleeping in new surroundings, living among strangers. So, traveling amidst the uncertainties of pandemic restrictions and political hullabaloo held little value compared to the quiet living of enjoying the company of sweet friends, the warmth of family love and the experience of adventures amidst the familiar. And I’ve heartily embraced the sweetness that’s graced my days . . .

I hiked trails, I haven’t traversed in years, that look out over vistas that take my breath away. I ran across bear tracks in the snow on my way to the lake. I strolled the beach during storms. I soaked in the hot tub under the cold, winter sun and moonlit, starry nights. And I shared laughter and confidences and tears.

I spent time with my grands watching Dennis The Menace and eating cheesy and carmel popcorn. We learned punch needlework together, created compositions with scratch art, crafted bracelets, dined on lasagna, competed at neon bowling and I held my twin great granddaughter and grandson for the very first time.

I fly back to work in a couple of days refreshed by the love in my life. In the midst of chaos, drama and heart-wrenching loss, home feels so welcoming; a peaceful haven wherein one finds much needed rest.​