What appears “curiouser and curiouser” is the way in which details come to light. Time slows to a heartbeat and keeps around hunger and sun direction. Summer arrives via humidity resting in pools on the floor and in my hair fixing to a frizzy halo atop my head. Lilah basks in the gentle Midwestern sun streaming through the front door, only lifting her head to stalk scurrying chipmunks. Gabe delves deep into maps, and boat books, and fishy guides until the wee hours of the morning and I practice cello. By and by, the bird choir gains a certain sense of familiarity with our house traipsing and coffee grinding. Spring peepers and bluegills eye me in my mustard bikini right before I take the daily plunge into the chilly lake. The waters are dark and deep, sort of an over-steeped English Breakfast brown, and stacked with millions of mosquito larvae squiggling next to shore. The first hair-raising storms of the summer months blow through the forest, testing bird nest structures and chick survival but also turning trees chartreuse overnight. I continue to write letters using coloring book paper and take too many pictures of the male ruby-throated hummingbird, who displays his stunning neck proudly to the female nestled in the pine. Sometimes in the early afternoon he’ll dance for her, swooping in large, quick curves to catch the light. I secretly hope he will always dance for her.
There are moments when I feel my toes touch ground, when I feel something inside me settle. My natal chart is chalkful of fire signs but privately, I hold fast to my earthy Taurus in Venus. Don’t get me wrong! I love flourishing energy, spontaneous adventures, cooking without a plan, dancing all night, and storytelling with strangers, but I also crave a home. The need for a physical plot with a garden to harvest roils those inner coals hotter every birthday. There is something sacred about a home space; whether it’s an altar of the mind, or four walls and a roof, or both. Since my youngest childhood memories, I have built this altar of the mind. It is tweaked and steadily engrained with each calendar year. I send some delicate thoughts out into the universe hoping someday to be rewarded, and maybe, just maybe, I check Zillow 4 or 5 times a week.
In light of all that makes us feel unsettled, we are lucky enough to have 3 very supportive families who are an easy couple hours drive away from our summer landing spot. It is surreal to sit around the table and know that we could easily come back to see a nephew’s swim meet, a mother’s choral performance, a brother’s birthday, or just to plant some Russian sage in our stepmother’s garden. In previous visits home, we would fly or drive 1,000 miles in a flurry of a maximum 5-day stay and feel an extreme pressure to make the best of every ticking second. Now there is a sweet, quiet relief that hangs over each conversation. There is peace that there will be more of everything together.
This trek home is one drenched in faith. Not necessarily one of a higher power, but more a faith in the future. My tendency is to lead first with heart intuition and Gabe with realist conclusions. We mostly even each other out beautifully but on occasion, miss one another’s mark completely. In those moments, it is when the most learning occurs. In the past, I have given way to learning more efficient paths for planning and he let go and dreamt with me, but this move home was a journey of the heart. There were many discussions of failure and lost opportunities. There were tearful arguments and overdrawn checking accounts. There were endings left unfinished and hopes shoved by the wayside. Yet, our communities stepped up to pay forward every ounce of love and have continued to check in.
For now, we will commune with the summer months: deep-fry walleye, suffer from the scourge of mosquitos, read to escape, paddle new waters, snuggle the furbeast, tie flies for big musky dreams, pick off ticks and singe them on the stove, knead biscuit dough 15 times, practice spiccato the way Mendelssohn would have wanted it, greet the hummingbird couple, and cross our fingers and ankles that our faith and hearts know what lies ahead.
A Homegoing 