Seasons of Home

I’ve always liked musing about the Welsh word “Hiraeth”, which means to yearn for a home one can never return to or to long for a home that never was.  It can also mean having a hollow sense of homesickness or a feeling of grief and loss for something unnamed.  The word seems to fit the bill for many things – wishing to see a sweet departed grandfather, reminiscing about a first love, dreaming of a little girl now grown.

There are seasons in life when we have an itch to explore and travel and see new things.  And other seasons when the pull to be home or to build a home or to make a better home overcomes us and we find ourselves staying close to where we live.  Sometimes it’s for comfort especially when the world is too much with us or we have experienced a loss and we find that burrowing in soothes our souls.

There are a many reasons why I am a homebody right now, including a beautiful new granddaughter nearby but it also began when I started re-reading Louisa May Alcott this spring.  You know her as the authoress of Little Women but she also wrote many other fine novels.  I’ll get my nose back into Little Women this summer but right now I am enjoying Eight Cousins, her tale of lonely orphan Rose and the new place she finds with her eight rough and tumble male cousins.

Home runs like a bright gold thread throughout all of Alcott’s novels which she describes with such expressive language and love for the places we belong.  She uses evocative words to illuminate cozy elderly aunts, nooks and crannies in old houses, and the devotion and loyalty household members have for one another.  She makes me want to make tea, arrange flowers, hang out sheets, and call on neighbors. When Rose’s parents both die and before her Uncle Alex takes over her care and brings her to his marvelous old house to live, her dark moods were due to a bad case of hiraeth, of not knowing where to go or what to do.

Sometimes self-care takes the form of home care.  Looking after your home, no matter how temporary or humble it is or how much money you have to spare, makes one feel in control of one’s world.  And sharing meals with friends and “putting on the Ritz” with nice quilted placemats and grandmother’s silver and crystal keeps fretting at bay.  Even something as simple as buying a garden hose that wraps up by itself, as I recently did, can make you feel pampered in some small way.

I highly recommend Louisa May Alcott this summer.  Get lost in her world of quirky but lovable house guests, bed caps as big as cabbages, polished floors, and the art of a good cry – following by warmed tea pots and porridge with real cream.  Louisa may actually spur you onto a little homekeeping and some projects that have lain fallow about your house.  I’m going to be repainting an old bench and relining my linen closet with fresh scented papers.

PS:  Above of course, is Louisa May Alcott’s home, Orchard House in Concord Massachusetts.  One of the lovely things about this house is the scent – like freshly opened star lilies or crisp stalks of gladiolas.  I once tried to find a perfume that was reminiscent of Orchard House and came close with “Galore”, an old Merle Norman fragrance that has been long discontinued.  But I wore it happily for years as a young woman.

PPS:  I have watched the new Little Women film from the BBC.  Still not as nice as the 1994 edition with Winona Ryder and Susan Sarandon.  And call me a prude but I was shocked to see older sister Meg use a bourdaloue in one of the first scenes.

PPPS:  As well, my recent essay about my favorite March sister who happens to be Meg, was accepted for a new Little Women anthology which will be published in book form soon.  I will keep you posted on that.

PPPPS:  Finally, I am thinking of a refresh for my blog.  The Blogger format suddenly looks tired.  If you have any thoughts, I will gladly listen.