Homeland

I stand on the well-worn floorboards of the front porch, looking out. The sky is a deep and cloudless blue. The air is cool and crisp. I smell the familiar scents of woodsmoke and sweetly decaying autumn leaves. A breeze touches my face, and carries the soft sound of our horses whinnying in the pasture.

Behind me, I feel the weight and hulking mass of the log cabin my father built. I sense the soul of this home. I know that if I turn and look in the windows, I will see my Childhood Self wearing my favorite flannel pajamas, playing with Barbie Dolls, Matchbox cars or Legos on the living room floor while the television drones Saturday morning cartoons in the background. I will see my mother working in the kitchen, where the homey, cozy scent of fresh coffee and frying bacon fills the air. A fire will be crackling in the fireplace, merry and comforting.

Before me, I see the beautiful rolling vista afforded by living high on a hill. I see our nicely mowed yard where our dog, Spike, lies in the middle of the grass, sleeping in the sun. The yard is separated from the pasture by a split-rail fence, also built by my father. The meadow is more overgrown with wild grasses, yellowed by the season, gently rippling in the breeze. Beyond that I see the tree line where our woods begin, brightly hued in fall colors. Far in the distance, tiny, I can barely see the town of Bedford.

I know my father is in the barn, working on one thing or another. I know when he comes in for breakfast he will hug the Me who is watching cartoons and playing before the fireplace, and he will be whole, and strong and healthy. A source of love, comfort and protection. I know that in the evening after supper, we will sit within the glow of the hearth, and he will tell some wonderfully eerie ghost stories in the spirit of the season.

I inhale deeply the scents of my childhood, listening to the calling of crows and the skittering of fallen leaves across the gravel driveway. This place is a source of strength and comfort to me, though I can only reach it in memory.

This is my Homeland.