As the holiday season wound down, so came the time to pack up my bags, with jam jars in tow, hop into the car with my traveling companion Liz, and head on back to the West. With adventures awaiting, it is always a challenge to say good-bye. Familiar faces, places, long over-due visits and conversations, when will I return to this place and pick-up where we last left off? I bid adieu to a different type of home, my family.
A short stop was made, to our family farm in Burks Falls. I write about this, because, I realize with time how much I desire a simple life. The farm, a five to ten year retirement plan for my folks, has become a weekend home, a retreat from the hustle and bustle of everyday life. Going up there, whether it be for an overnight, or longer, one can't help but to shed all the busyness off before going through the front door. Inside, awaits a woodstove, with inviting chairs that seem to beckon without having to do anything except be there. I have not been to the farm since the early spring, and after a long fall and toilsome start to winter, it was a welcome to plop down in front of the fire and release a huge heavy-laden sigh.
What is it about our "retreats" that can make us relax, let down our shoulders and feel completely satisfied with just being? And why is it that we do not often create this same feeling, in our "regular" homes? Wouldn't it be nice to experience a rustic-escape experience everyday? A place, or haven to just be still. There wouldn't be the need to worry about what is going on outside the doorstep, or to feel the overwhelming urge to be out shopping with the masses. I wonder, is it the home that creates a feeling of whether we choose to be out, or in? The furniture? Maybe the energy that is poured into the space? The location? Or is it the way we label place that truly generates the feeling of a space?
In the fall, I undertook the arduous process of looking for a home. Not just a house, but a home. Something that invites a person in. A place that was loved. It took almost a month of searching high and low, through the worst to the best. During this time, what came to mind, is today's architecture -vs- the architecture from days of old. Why oh why, have we lost touch with the same quality and heart that was once so prominent in old houses? It's sad to think that these beautifully built homes are slowly becoming more and more obsolete, and yet the ones that still stand, are so highly desired. Why not bring back and build these one-of-a-kind homes once again? We need a house revolution!
I think about my little house here in Bozeman. It is cheery, bright and welcoming. Created in 1909, it still maintains much of it's original character, with a landlord who is dedicated to making sure it remains so. It is apparent that this house is loved. As my dear roommate and I began to fill our new home, thoughts kept pouring in. I wondered how I could help create a space to come home to where, shoulders would drop, visitors would feel at home, and more importantly, where one is happy to linger. A home should be filled with love and warmth. Smells of home cooked meals filling each room, as we unwind from our long wonderful days in the great world around us. What is important? What is it that we need, in order to bring life and love into our space? What can we do without? Why not fill a place with the essentials, creating a feeling that is warm and inviting, and to share that space with friends, family and loved ones, letting the conversations begin to unravel? A house filled with laughter is a merry welcome and something that no trinket could ever replace.
Let us all begin to bring people in, to build our communities with what we have, while taking our own ideals of home, and turning them into reality. And as we begin to build our own homes, in turn, we too are building a shelter for others.
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