I recently returned to my homeland in North Carolina to see my family. Hiking through my local forest by the river, shelling beans and peas at my grandma’s house with my mom, cousins and aunts, and moving away from my hometown in eighth grade after my parents separated are some of my childhood memories.

Two days before my flight I received a phone call from my dad “I’m going to need three heart catheterizations and they might have to do open heart surgery again”.   Three days later the cardiac surgeon called my step mom, sister and me to speak with us in the hall by the fish tank.  My heart pounded hard and fast, “He did well in surgery and will be ready for you to see him in about an hour”.  As we went back into the waiting room of blue and green colors and shared the news with the small community of my dad’s friends, each face softened as they heard the surprising update.  One friend had spent the previous two hours sharing his life stories of not being drafted for Vietnam, remembering me as a young child, and talking about his church, speaking quickly with nervous energy.  After the updates from the surgeon, my dad’s friend smiled, quieted down, and sat still in contemplation for a few moments.  Out of the corner of my left eye I saw him take a deep breathe then sigh in relief,  “I’m glad your dad will be ok.  He’s been my friend since we were little boys”.  “I’m glad he is too”, I replied with a smile.

During the next four days ‘home’ with my dad I spent time being with him.  As well, time was filled with harvesting tomatoes, grapes and “butterbeans”, shelling beans, taking photos of lightning storms at night and swimming with my younger sister in the warm Atlantic Ocean, as my dad recovered and rested.

Mid-day on Sunday during a strong flooding rainstorm, my dad and I gave big hugs to each other and I caught the Amtrak to see my mom and stepdad. Six hours later, as I stepped off of the cool air-conditioned train at 10pm, I immediately began perspiring from the hot, humid summer night.  My thoughts and memories shifted to my teen years and my family of three with my younger brother and single mom.  She worked full time, taught me a great deal about being responsible and independent and following my dreams.  She never answered a question for me.  Instead she asked me questions to help me find my own answers, and I always knew that she supported me and loved me “no matter what”.  Of course, she and I had, and still do at times have, disagreements on varying subjects, but our core values are the same, family, love and happiness.

While being ‘home’ at my mom’s we harvested tomatoes, purple-hull peas and went to the local farmer’s market where we purchased a bushel of green beans and some locally roasted cashews.  I spent time over the next two days shelling peas, snapping beans, canning tomatoes, watching the nighttime “lightning bugs” and sitting under the silver maple trees in my mom’s backyard.

Moving away from ‘home’ as a young adult was an adventure, a way for me to see the rest of the world.  Little did I know when I drove across the country in 1990 that I would not return to my homeland, except to visit.  I found a new ‘home’, a place where the trees grew larger than I’d ever imagined, rain was little more than a drizzle and summers rarely exceeded 85 degrees.  And, I returned ‘home’, to nature, mountain biking in fall, snowboarding in winter, backpacking and rafting in spring and body surfing in the hypothermic water of the Pacific Ocean in summer.

After about eight years of being in the northwest, I returned ‘home’ to the plants, creating my own backyard garden filled with veggies, fruit and herbs.  It’s not a wonder that I love being in the garden, with all of my childhood memories of gardening, the sense of peace amongst the plants, and the security of having homegrown food.

My recent return to my own ‘home’ in Washington for me was like being a child opening her gifts at Christmas time.  As I travelled, first by plane crossing the country, next by bus on the shuttle going north, and finally by boat to the San Juan Islands on the ferry, my excitement grew to see my beloved, Nick and be back ‘home’.

The next days ahead were of catching up with Nick, watering and harvesting the garden, and preparing for my Saturday Market booth. Still readjusting from being away, I have an increased awareness of things important and more understanding from where I have come.

No matter where I am, returning ‘home’ to nature is where I am most comfortable. This place is one of serenity, of love and joy, of knowing that I am part of something much larger.  Being one with nature does bring me ‘home’, to a place of returning… remembering.  Remembering from where I come and from here I return.  I return to my own remembering which brings me closer to my own destiny.  I am thankful for my life, my recent trip to see my family, and for my own understanding of returning ‘home’.

I hope that you are able to return ‘home’ soon as well.

Blessings,

Susie