The Ache for Home Lives in All of Us

Maya Angelou understood and now I do too

“The ache for home lives in all of us. The safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned.” ― Maya Angelou

When we first moved into our new home, it was late spring of 2018. My daughter had just graduated from high school, and my son had completed his sophomore year at university. Before that, there was a lot of pressure to find a home. Housing was scooped up almost instantaneously, and I was frantic to find us a new place to live.

When I arrived at this place, to check it out, there was a line waiting to get in. There were families, couples, and other single people like me. Some were laughing, is this place for real? It’s so small. Meanwhile, I was sweating, nervous, and simultaneously excited.

Taking my shoes off at the front door, I stepped in. I didn’t realize the landlord was the one checking us out, but she looked down at my bare feet, and there was a slight smile.

I smiled back and nodded, then said, “good morning. I’m so relieved to have found this beautiful home.”

Truthfully, it felt like something out of a storybook.

I wandered through, taking in all sorts of mental notes. The biggest questions were, is there a nice kitchen and an area for a kitchen table? And will everyone have a bedroom? I’m from the east coast and a kitchen with good bones feels like home. It’s where I often sit and write. The answers were yes, yes, and yes.

I was also super surprised to see a tiny backyard with a swatch of grass and a small bare flowerbed. To me, that was a canvas, and plants sprouted up in my heart’s mind. And another bonus, there was a tiny covered back porch. I felt a bit like Alice in Wonderland.

I left my name with at least a half dozen others who came before me. I also asked if I could please bring my son by to look at the place too, and she immediately said, “yes. please do.” With that same soft smile.

My daughter would have come as well, but she was off doing senior grad parties and such. As I mentioned, it was a super emotional and busy time for us. We were letting go of our main home, downsizing, uprooting, shaking off memories, and unbeknownst to us then, we were creating new ones.

I was also leaving beyond my flowers. So many flowers. Seedlings, transplants, gifts from friends, seeds gifted from birds. My gardens felt a bit like a Monet painting. The colors permeated the outside with joy bubbles. Nothing matched, and yet it did. I love that about Nature, how it welcomes everyone to join in.

Fast forward, we got the home and are still here. The small bare flower bed is now brimming with love — two large Provence lavender plants now dwarf a turquoise birdbath. And there are two rose bushes, on either end, much like quotation marks.

The tiny back porch is dotted with flowerpots, and the front porch is too. I’ve got herbs growing in pots, so it is easy to walk out and snip, snip, snip to add some flavor to something I’m cooking.

For the first time in years, I added a tomato plant that now lives next to the basil; what a lovely combination! I wish I could grow olives and press my own olive oil. While I’m daydreaming, I’ll grow some garlic too.

Here I am, sitting at my kitchen table, with my now cold coffee next to me. I feel so grateful and inspired by this home. The kitchen has bones, and the garden calls me. The roses I’ve planted are just about to bloom. The blue-glassed hummingbird feeder is tethered right above the potted flowers. Our ginger cat is in the window, and a misty soft spring rain compliments my sentiments.

Sometimes I’m still surprised how good content feels. It’s like I’ve been waiting a long, long time for this moment to feel safe and belong.

Carolyn Riker is the author of three beautiful books of poetry and prose. She’s also a licensed mental health therapist in private practice. Her books are available on Amazon.