The ivory curtains hang like fairy wings against the tall, tall window. Outside is the darkness of night, the lamplight shining orange-yellow on the water droplets hanging from the evergreens, and reflecting off the little creek running past our house. Wind rushes through the scraggly trees. This is my home. I live on an island. Or rather, a long spit of land leading to an island, accessible by dry, pebbly land at low tides.
This place wasn’t always my home. I hated it at first. I grew up on the prairie. I grew up with rocky land and rich, dark soil. Here, a foot down is clay. I grew up with the Black Hills in the distance. Here, I am surrounded by waterways and islands. I grew up with forest trails and the stillness of the Black River. Here, I listen to the wind’s humming whistle through the rigging of the boats at harbor, eerie and keening, on stormy nights.
Sometimes I think you just have to give things time. Make it your own. I did that with my room first. All the books went on all the shelves. I decorated the walls with bits of this and that–an autumn bouquet I gathered on my wanderings through the arboretum off at university. A faerie from Mimi, my grandma. Paintings of the San Juans from the trip I took with my mom. Glow-in-the-dark stars on my ceiling, set in the summer constellations. In short, I made it my cozy, comfortable home.
A favorite Gaelic song of mine is of a woman coming to the New World from Scotland. She laments for the old land of her home, and I know what that feels like. But maybe, just maybe, did she learn to love her new home? The mountains full of evergreens? The colors of our autumns? Our wildflowers in the spring? Maybe, just maybe, we can find a little bit of heaven wherever we go. We just have to look. And give it time.
Check out my book! A little bit of God, love, common sense, and hope for the day.
“Following Your Feet, A Young Woman’s Journey”
Page Count: 287 (Second Edition)