People often ask me what I miss most about home.
Actually, they ask me ‘Do you miss Canada?’
Is there a Canadian alive living outside of her borders that would say no to that? Of course I miss home. I miss being close to family and all the ease and support that means, especially when you’ve got two young kids. I miss dad’s strawberry shortcake and putting together a puzzle with mom. I miss re-connecting with my brother and his family. I miss hanging out with old, old, OLD friends who look the same to me as they did when we were all 16 but maybe we’ve all just got ‘affection’ googles on. I miss seeing the friends I made while training in Texas and working at ‘Big Oil’.
And I absolutely miss the snow. There is something about being in the woods while they slowly fill up with snow. The only sound your breath and the easy wind in the heavy snow-clad trees. There is a deep solace there, reminded as you are in your fourteen layers of clothing that you are frail and small, and the world is immense, and full of it’s own affairs.
There is no other place on earth that reminds me how weird life is than being home in the town I grew up in. A town that continues to surprise me. Resurgo indeed. (Latin for ‘I Rise again’ and the town motto).
It’s a new year, 2019. And in this new year I want to be careful to appreciate the amazingness of where I am - an hour away from one of the largest cities in America and all that has to offer.
Still, I pass by two farms on the way to my house, and I love that Benji and Ellie say hello to the horses and cows on the way home every day. I’ve got the best of both worlds right now - able to freely run amuck in a rural area - gardening to my heart’s content, yet close to world class museums, restaurants and a hopping job market.
And the people! New people popping up every day from all walks of life and I love learning their stories, why they’re here, what they hope for, what they work for, what they love and why. Humans are fascinating and I love them all, eh? Stereotypes are so 90’s aren’t they? Everyone has a story, everyone more than they seem at first glance.
I digress! I’ve asked for clarity this year and I believe I’ve gotten it. I wanted adventure and new places and situations to explore. I’ve had that and can’t wait for more. At the same time if we found our way back among my heart-town of Moncton I would be quite pleased.
At least, until the siren call of adventure sounds again, eh?
Here’s one of my favorite poems by Robert Frost. An American, true, but he’s got a Canadian feel to him that’s quite lovely.
Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening
Whose woods these are I think I know
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.