my view of where my home is constantly
shifting. it may be a physical place but that seems relevant if you’ve lived in the same house for 20 years or moved back to the town you grew up in or you have a husband and children to have dinner with every night

but i don’t fall under any of those categories. i still call henderson home because that’s where my family is. i love the farm. i love the quiet; the waves of green in the summer; the fall harvest. and i love my family {and miss them greatly}.

but i don’t live there anymore. my bedroom is now an office and i sleep in the guest room. home, then in this case, is a remembrance of a childhood. of loving parents. a piece of my heart is (and always will be) there.

my home address now is seattle and has been for three years. sometimes my heart is here but my heart is in scattered bits around the world. my heart also has a bad case of wanderlust. so can ‘home’ be many places?

which brings me to the thought that perhaps home is an experience. an experience of being able to walk into a house, put on a pair of comfy pants and curl up in bed. and be safe from the outside world. a place to find rest. a place of shelter. so home becomes people, places, foods- things that comfort us

saturday night was an act of coming home. i spent the day preparing a meal for 2 friends i have memories with in the swiss alps. and on a cold rainy evening there was no question to what i would prepare: soup and bread. because that is the meal congruent to our past of many meals shared. a simple meal- imperative when you are surrounding yourself with people who are a refuge. tasty yet not distracting of what is most important.

the combination lingers in your mouth, and soul, for days.

(tricia at “eating is art” has an amazing post about coming home here)