I'm a military brat so all my moving was done as a child. I'm currently thinking deep thoughts about personal identity and one of those thoughts is "what is home?" Moving so often as a child made me "who I am today" and influenced how I think about home and houses. What I've got so far is that home is a concept, a set of ideas that combine to create (for you) the idea of home. Home as mere shelter works for survival. But for thriving, home has to be more than that. I think it boils down to "home is where you feel like you belong", but of course, then I have to analyze what belonging means! The dictionary says: to be in a relationship with others of your kind.
This summer, I spent a few months hiking the Appalachian Trail, homeless except for my tent. Lots of time to think about everything. One of the things I really wanted when I re-established a home, was what I started to call in my head, a witch's house. What I could afford when I got back to Canada was a small two bedroom apartment condo. I'm still trying to figure things out and I want to say reading your essays has been helpful. So, thanks.
I can very much relate to this. I remember how it felt to find out the vicarage I was born in was no longer a vicarage and could be bought. I’ve always wanted to go back to that house. I was heartbroken to leave at the age of six and made a stubborn vow that I would live there again. It was what a house is meant to be. It was my ur-house. But really I wanted to live there again as I did in the 1960s, when as a child the impractical kitchen, draughty bathroom and inadequate heating were not my concern. There were many reasons that it was out of the question to buy it now - not least the seven figure price tag which in part reflected ‘improvements’, with walls knocked down and extensions built. I want to go back to MY house, not the one standing there now, and I will still dream of that.
This resonated - when I see pictures of homes I've lived in, the emotions I felt while living in them kind of smack me in the heart. Even though some memories of things that happened in those homes are painful, I'm still drawn like a moth to the images.
I imagine the sound you made when reading about the ‘tranquil setting’ and ‘serene river views’ was quite loud too.... I remember the pictures of your stuff in this house and how perfect it looked, then reading this when you first wrote it. Perfect example of how to create an image of perfection when reality is very different. Which rather sums up what social media does.
"And I thought about the one time I went back to a place I used to live and what doing so taught me about the impossibility of recreating, even part-recreating, a cherished part of your past, because everything, always, is moving on, relentlessly."
You worded this so beautifully. Yesterday, I was actually counting up how many homes I've lived in over the course of my 65 years. The answer to that is 6. My current home is where I've lived the longest--22 years. I often think about the house I grew up in (we moved when I was 10) and that I could live there again. But, as you say, it would not be the same. But the memories...they pull.
My working life has been more your home life! I've never worked in the same place for more than six years. Over that time, I've wondered if I could return to a previous employer that I since regretted leaving. But again...it would not be the same.
Thoroughly enjoyable to read. Your wonderful ability to submerge me in an environment that I have absolutely no experience of, in ‘real’ life, urges me to revisit your words. Thank you for sharing all of it. Courage of the highest order.
A wonderful reflective piece that has left me reflecting on the houses I've lived in. A couple of years ago through some weird impulse I checked out the area I grew up in on rightmove. There needless to say was my childhood home which my parents sold 30 years earlier (for a quarter of the price). I recognised it instantly because the outside was unchanged in pretty much every detail. The photos of the inside showed somewhere totally unrecognisable, even to the shape of the rooms. I poured over them thinking surely there'd be some detail dating back to my days there. Everything had been replaced, altered, redesigned, redecorated, with one exception, the fireplace my parents had put in 60 years before. Of course what I was looking for was my childhood.
I have been in a few houses over the years but nothing as interesting as The River House. I hope someone buys it and returns it to its glory and mystique. Houses with a little mystery and on a river is great.
You’ve experienced more of life in the years you describe than most people experience in a lifetime. And those experiences shape you and your writing. I often dream of moving back “home”, but then realize I’m right where I need to be. Thank you for sharing a bit of your life with us!
Life in the US can be so different than what you write. That’s why I appreciate you so much. Your writing is my respite, my way of “taking a break” from life in these United States.
We owned a wonderful remote old cabin that had no road access and could only be accessed by boat in the simmer and across the ice in the winter. 25 great years and too many fond memories to count. We don’t really miss it now. We miss being 35 and owning it.
"...the impossibility of recreating, even part-recreating, a cherished part of your past, because everything, always, is moving on, relentlessly...."
Dealing with that now in the wake of Asheville.
I'm a military brat so all my moving was done as a child. I'm currently thinking deep thoughts about personal identity and one of those thoughts is "what is home?" Moving so often as a child made me "who I am today" and influenced how I think about home and houses. What I've got so far is that home is a concept, a set of ideas that combine to create (for you) the idea of home. Home as mere shelter works for survival. But for thriving, home has to be more than that. I think it boils down to "home is where you feel like you belong", but of course, then I have to analyze what belonging means! The dictionary says: to be in a relationship with others of your kind.
This summer, I spent a few months hiking the Appalachian Trail, homeless except for my tent. Lots of time to think about everything. One of the things I really wanted when I re-established a home, was what I started to call in my head, a witch's house. What I could afford when I got back to Canada was a small two bedroom apartment condo. I'm still trying to figure things out and I want to say reading your essays has been helpful. So, thanks.
I can very much relate to this. I remember how it felt to find out the vicarage I was born in was no longer a vicarage and could be bought. I’ve always wanted to go back to that house. I was heartbroken to leave at the age of six and made a stubborn vow that I would live there again. It was what a house is meant to be. It was my ur-house. But really I wanted to live there again as I did in the 1960s, when as a child the impractical kitchen, draughty bathroom and inadequate heating were not my concern. There were many reasons that it was out of the question to buy it now - not least the seven figure price tag which in part reflected ‘improvements’, with walls knocked down and extensions built. I want to go back to MY house, not the one standing there now, and I will still dream of that.
This resonated - when I see pictures of homes I've lived in, the emotions I felt while living in them kind of smack me in the heart. Even though some memories of things that happened in those homes are painful, I'm still drawn like a moth to the images.
I imagine the sound you made when reading about the ‘tranquil setting’ and ‘serene river views’ was quite loud too.... I remember the pictures of your stuff in this house and how perfect it looked, then reading this when you first wrote it. Perfect example of how to create an image of perfection when reality is very different. Which rather sums up what social media does.
"And I thought about the one time I went back to a place I used to live and what doing so taught me about the impossibility of recreating, even part-recreating, a cherished part of your past, because everything, always, is moving on, relentlessly."
You worded this so beautifully. Yesterday, I was actually counting up how many homes I've lived in over the course of my 65 years. The answer to that is 6. My current home is where I've lived the longest--22 years. I often think about the house I grew up in (we moved when I was 10) and that I could live there again. But, as you say, it would not be the same. But the memories...they pull.
My working life has been more your home life! I've never worked in the same place for more than six years. Over that time, I've wondered if I could return to a previous employer that I since regretted leaving. But again...it would not be the same.
Thanks for this beautiful essay.
Thoroughly enjoyable to read. Your wonderful ability to submerge me in an environment that I have absolutely no experience of, in ‘real’ life, urges me to revisit your words. Thank you for sharing all of it. Courage of the highest order.
Another compelling and beautiful read Tom.
Thanks Karen.
A wonderful reflective piece that has left me reflecting on the houses I've lived in. A couple of years ago through some weird impulse I checked out the area I grew up in on rightmove. There needless to say was my childhood home which my parents sold 30 years earlier (for a quarter of the price). I recognised it instantly because the outside was unchanged in pretty much every detail. The photos of the inside showed somewhere totally unrecognisable, even to the shape of the rooms. I poured over them thinking surely there'd be some detail dating back to my days there. Everything had been replaced, altered, redesigned, redecorated, with one exception, the fireplace my parents had put in 60 years before. Of course what I was looking for was my childhood.
I have been in a few houses over the years but nothing as interesting as The River House. I hope someone buys it and returns it to its glory and mystique. Houses with a little mystery and on a river is great.
Loved to hear about this again, but I am glad that you left, not a healthy house for you!
I love reading this again. Thank you.
You’ve experienced more of life in the years you describe than most people experience in a lifetime. And those experiences shape you and your writing. I often dream of moving back “home”, but then realize I’m right where I need to be. Thank you for sharing a bit of your life with us!
Life in the US can be so different than what you write. That’s why I appreciate you so much. Your writing is my respite, my way of “taking a break” from life in these United States.
Rightmove has a lot to answer for.
We owned a wonderful remote old cabin that had no road access and could only be accessed by boat in the simmer and across the ice in the winter. 25 great years and too many fond memories to count. We don’t really miss it now. We miss being 35 and owning it.