I just looked at pictures of my family all together on our farm and felt unbelievably sad, despite having just spent a blissful two weeks with my own little family here in London and beyond. There's something about home that is better than anyplace else, especially when it's full of people you love.
I suffer from conflicting emotions during times of stress and during holidays. On one hand, I still wake up in London and sometimes can't believe that I'm here. After growing up in Tallulah, Louisiana, moving to New Orleans was a big deal and here we are, thousands of miles away from home, all settled into a culture that isn't ours with two beautiful children who have somehow managed to embrace their English AND American roots. I am staggered by the diversity, culture, excitement, and sheer hugeness of London. If I had the energy and the motivation, I could do something new every day here. Just last week we discovered that if we drive fifteen minutes down the road we are in what is essentially the countryside...in London. It was surreal (full blog on this experience to follow) and reminded me of how much we still don't know about this amazing and vast city that we live in.
But I still have a visceral longing to go home. Not just to the the States (when we tend to refer to, in its entirety, as 'home'), but to my home, where I grew up and where my parents still live and where my whole family was together just a few days ago. Home, where it smells like tilled earth all the time and where, in the winter old pecans crunch under your feet. Home is where my children can climb on tractors and explore the dusty 'commissary' like I did when I was a kid. Home, where a mothball scent penetrates everything and where, in the summer, the bullfrogs make an unholy ruckus in the bayou in front of our house. Home is where Dad smells like the lava soap he uses to get the grease off his hands and where Mom makes French bread in bulk in anticipation of us gorging ourselves when we get there. At home, we can see for miles in every direction. At home, we can take the pickup truck over the levy and show the girls the Mississippi River. We can pick fresh tomatoes from Dad's garden or sweetcorn from the fields. We can lie in the pecan groves at night and watch the stars and listen to coyotes in the distance and, if we go walking around in the evening or early morning, there is the real possibility of our getting hit in the face by a bat (of the flying variety). We can trek out across the fields with dogs and children and maybe see a small alligator in a ditch or climb over the fence into the corral where a bunch of curious cows will look at us, chewing their cuds in boredom. We might hear the unnerving gun shots of hunters in the distance (In Louisiana, it always seems to be hunting season). We might get chased by some dogs when we go running. We'll wave in that relaxed way that country people wave when we pass each other on the road. We'll dodge pot holes and wonder about the FEMA houses that are being used as hunting lodges. Maybe we'll dissect some owl regurgitation and show our daughters the bones and teeth of mice inside. Maybe we'll scoop some crawfish out of the pool.
They say 'home is where the heart is' and I tend to believe it.
Update: In response to a few comments from friends, I feel I should clarify that I do not want to move back home. I just think there will never be any other place that I feel so emotionally connected to. Home is not all cypress tree beauty, Southern charm, and pecan pie. It's also hot and full of mosquitoes and poisonous snakes and out in the middle of nowhere. It's conservative and can be racist. It's full of local culture but can be small minded. Poverty prevails. I left, but that doesn't mean I don't still love where I grew up, the rich experiences I had with my family there and the amazing people there who have always been part of my life. Plus, after Cleveland, it's my favorite place to spend Christmas!
