Going Home
My grandparents have lived in the same house since the 1960s. That’s 60 years. The Cape Cod style cottage in Connecticut has seen graduations, new babies, and a lifetime of events in between. It was also the hub for my family to get together this month to remember and celebrate my grandmother, who passed away earlier this summer.
Walking into that house, I know where everything is: the wood stove in the living room, the small table and chairs in front of the picture window, the bathroom with original tile, and on and on. Looking around in the kitchen with very little counter space and overflowing cabinets, it’s hard for me to imagine just how my grandmother made dinner here. But it got done, and we all sat around the table in the kitchen.
My grandparents always had vegetable and flower gardens. I remember picking green beans and then snapping the ends. The yard was full of color from spring until fall. The large rock in the front yard was an excellent spot for jumping.
And now, going back, my kids are exploring the same house in the same way I did. Jumping from the same rock. Looking through the gardens. Grandpa now has a chicken run through the backyard, so the neighbors’ chickens have more space to roam. Home has never felt more personal or special than it did last week.