Coming Home

Rosa Bianca Eggplant

What makes home feel like home, a place you love to come back to?

I've noticed that whenever I move to a new place, I have a nesting routine.  I unpack, yes, but there's more to it than that for me.

For example, I once arrived in a totally new state, and stopped by the house I knew we'd be renting but hadn't seen yet.  They were painting it, and it wouldn't be ready for us to move in for a few more days.  One of the women on the crew just looked like she'd know where to get fresh peaches, and I told her so.  

And I was right about her.  She told me exactly how to get to a good farm with a good deal.  I immediately followed her directions, and bought fifty pounds.

Never mind that I had no clue if I had access to a freezer.  It was the last day the orchard would have peaches at all, and since my canning supplies were still in transit, I also found a store, bought freezer bags, and took my chances.  

I was glad I did, because I did find access to a freezer, and until our moving truck arrived I really didn't have anything to do other than freeze peaches anyway!  And I felt that somehow I had managed to pack a bit of summer away for our new home, something I could pull out and savor during the months ahead.

Or, for another example, when we moved to our current house, our moving truck came to our door a full three weeks later than we did.  

We planted our seeds the second full day in our new house, so that even though we were dealing with a makeshift bed, we'd at least have a head start on our tomato plants.  And when there were free lemons advertised on Craigslist?  And forty pounds of limes for sale at the flea market for $4?  

We went straight down and bought jars, a big pot, and a citrus juicer, and canned ourselves several months' supply of lime and lemon juice.

Maybe I'm too centered around food, I don't know, but these old fashioned ways I have of preparing for winter, so to speak, and putting down real garden roots, make a place feel like my little haven on earth.

Having a garden to come home to, wondering just how much everything has grown while I've been gone, and knowing there is home-grown, home-made pesto in the freezer waiting to be pulled out for supper right after the plane lands, fills me with such a satisfied, eager contentment in coming home.