It was a wonderful feeling, walking into the kitchen where years and years of pumpkin carving, Happy Birthdays, math homework and heart-to-heart conversations have taken place. Earlier in the day, Kristin had driven down from the north end to put some half and half in our fridge, knowing how sweet it would be to have it for coffee this morning, and set fresh tulips and eggs for us to find on our counter. And there is nothing more comforting in the world, at least not in my experience, than climbing into your own bed at the end of the day, especially after being away for a while—it had been such a long day and such a long while.
And yet, it was a little bit hard to come back to the home we love. Hard to not know yet the rules of engagement on our little Island, or how our kids would react to being among their friends again, now that the game has changed. Hard to see the calendar still stuck in March, and to notice the flyer for a middle school dance that won’t happen, still propped up against my desktop monitor. The house was a little chilly, and our dog, Charlotte, wasn’t yet home to greet us.
I had a strange sensation as I went upstairs to bed, a feeling a little like the one I imagine Alice felt when she fell down into the rabbit hole. The scale of our house on Bainbridge is so much smaller—the ceilings, doorways and counters are so much lower and the rooms feel so much more intimate—than where we’ve been living. The bright white-painted millwork that runs all through this house, and that I’ve always loved so much, evokes a completely different mood than the muted, warm, earthy colors of our desert place, especially at night. The light in the kitchen felt a little stark; it took me a few seconds and some focus to remember where we keep our cups and glasses.
This morning I woke up and started poking around the house early, reacquainting myself. The sun was shining—a surprise—and I happened to glance out an upstairs window just as an eagle took flight from somewhere atop a tree on Fort Ward Hill. I watched as it traced a slow, deliberate circle high in the air and then, spotting something, swooped down toward the water, toward breakfast. I drank a perfect cup of coffee from a favorite mug and started the work of unpacking until Charlotte was delivered back to us, leaping and darting from me to Stephen to Amelia to Garner to Peyton and back to me in a wild and ecstatic homecoming dance.
Today the air in the PNW felt fresh and restorative after living in the dry heat of the desert, and the tree peony that reliably heralds each Spring from its prominent spot in our front yard is in dazzling bloom. Thanks to the efforts of a dear family friend, the garden is ready for planting and I’m so excited to plant it. Tomorrow I think I’ll venture out and see what starts I can find.
Today, Charlotte, peonies, the promise of a new garden, kind friends and our island home are my joy. #joyinplace
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