Home

There was no tear-filled moment standing on the dock. We didn’t say goodbye to the lake, although we both did stop in our tracks once to notice the group of eleven loons that appeared fifty yards from our dock. But it happened during our last hour at Loon Landing, and we were overcome with packing up, our emotions elsewhere. When we drove away I didn’t even look in the rear view mirror. Just like that it was over.

The drive home took 14 and a half hours. The traffic was manageable. Hardly a drop of rain. Come to think of it, the entire time we were in Maine I think it might have rained twice. The only accident backup we endured happened less than thirty minutes from home. I should have noticed the State Trooper whizzing by, lights flashing ten minutes before. When the GPS offered a quicker route with no mention of a wreck ahead, I thought she was just dispensing helpful information, but the 3.5 minutes the detour was going to save me seemed silly when I had been driving for over 14 hours. I ignored her, then sat in a parking lot for thirty minutes. By the time we passed the accident site, the ambulance had pulled away, leaving a fire crew, a couple of Troopers, and a charred, mangled motorcycle twisted around a guardrail. Welcome home, I thought. 

Home is every bit as much a concept as it is a place. Each year when we drive up into the driveway after being gone for a month, there is an overwhelming feeling of pride that wells up in me. This, despite the fact that the yard is a mess, the grass withered and brown, the hydrangeas drooped over and gangly, my tomatoe plants having been ravaged by the neighborhood squirrels. Dead pine needles have coated my front yard like snow, a rusty red needle snow that gives my yard a southwestern desert look. Exhausted as I am, despite aching hamstrings and a sore back, I instantly know what I will be doing for the next three hours before I’ve even rolled to a stop. This is our home...and it just can’t look like nobody lives here a second longer. 

After unpacking the car and removing the car top carrier and roof rack, I begin. I rake up the pine needles. I clean up the deck, reinvigorate the house plants that have been faithfully watered by the precious kids who live next door, and place them back in their respective places. I then cut the grass, trim the haggard edges, gather up a month’s worth of sticks from the yard and driveway. The sweat is pouring out of me, dripping off the end of my nose. It has been a while since I’ve been in Short Pump humidity. I haven’t missed it.

This was taped to the fence when we arrived home. The kids next door who I had hired to water the plants had made it to welcome us back home. These three pups are about the sweetest things you’ve ever seen. They all three had birthdays while we were gone. I bought them some cool stuff from The Smiling Cow. I have no grandkids of my own yet, so I’ve got to start spoiling somebody’s kids. I hope Stu and Jamie don’t mind.

So, that’s it. The Maine 2019 adventure is in the books. We will both miss Loon Landing. For the next couple of weeks, I will think about the lake when I drink my morning coffee. Pam will try to imagine gliding along on her paddle board at sunset. We will both long for the table on the deck every breakfast, lunch and dinner we eat for the next month. Lucy will miss the lake, mostly being in the lake. But, there are things we are glad to be back to. Air conditioning, high water pressure, a shower stall where you can turn around without hitting the handle and sliding it all the way over to the red H. Lucy is happy to have her back yard back. The first thing she did yesterday afternoon was walk out there and flip over on her back and roll around, making a snow angel in the pine needles.

Leaving Maine will always bring with it a sadness. We love it there. But coming back home will always bring with it a kind of joy. It’s ours, for one thing. But it’s also...Home.