If you had the opportunity to live a nomadic life, traveling from place to place, would you do it? Do you need a home base? What makes a place “home” to you? Photographers, artists, poets: show us MOVING. http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/07/20/daily-prompt-moving/
I lived a pretty nomadic life growing up. I went to two or three different schools every year. It seemed we were always traveling from one end of the country to the other. In fact I was nearly born in Canada, as that’s where my family was when I decided it was time to introduce myself to my parents. Dad however wanted me born right here in the good old USA. They made it across the border into Michigan and that’s my birthplace.
I thought I loved my nomadic existence. Then one Spring we were in Indiana and one of my brothers fell in love. He begged Dad to stay. Since he was pretty much the favorite child (I love him in spite of this), Dad decided to buy a farm and settle his large family in one spot. I was a little upset by this, but I was still able to live the nomadic lifestyle I loved by travelling with other family members.
I soon came to realize I loved our farm and going to one school every year. It was home. And that’s a word I wasn’t too familiar with up to this point. If given the opportunity to live that nomadic lifestyle now, my answer would have to be a resounding no. Oh, I still love to travel and there are many places I’ve never been and would love to visit. And when the opportunity arises, I will go. But I need my home base. To me, there really is no place like home. Within the walls of our little cottage lives comfort, security, joy, laughter and even tears, but most of all love lives here. It’s the nicest place I can imagine being. Every time I pull into the drive after being away, I feel a marvelous feeling contentment.
I wrote a sad poem a few years ago titled Home Again. Hope you like it. 🙂 After the poem are a couple of photos to represent moving from the past to the present.
Sun burning on my back,
Palm trees rustling in the breeze.
Soft warm sand beneath my feet,
Ocean clear and glassy green,
Foamy peaks rushing onto shore.
Walking up the sun drenched beach,
Thinking of nothing, seeing all.
So many years gone by.
Streets at dusk are quiet now,
Homes all bright from light within.
Air, heavy with the scent of citrus.
Fruit laden trees in gardens here and there,
Lemon, orange and kumquat.
Roaming far away from home,
Finding you, seeing the world.
Never quite understanding
That you were here all along.
Time wasted in running away,
The funeral home was full,
The burial quiet.
Home again, but missing Mama.
Strayed for much too long,
Never got to say goodbye.