We all know what a house is. What is a home?
I think in my lifetime I have moved about twenty times. Every time I moved I called the place I lived in “home”. Even when Art and I are staying at a hotel, we talk about “going home” at the end of the day. It’s amazing how adaptable we are.
But all of this became a relevant topic for me in the past few weeks. My in-laws are in the process of moving. They are leaving their home of forty-eight years, a large, traditional, Cape style house built in 1756. It had originally been a stagecoach stop; a place where people might come to stay the night before moving on to their ultimate destination. It has been added on to a couple of times. What was once a ballroom on the upper floor has been divvied up into several bedrooms and a bath. It has been moved from its original site (although not very far). It still has its original wood beams and wide-planked wood floors in some rooms. There is an original fireplace in the living room. The original house is so old that behind the original lathe and plaster walls, the insulation consists of old newspapers. There is a gracious old maple tree outside the house that provides ample shade in summer and a gorgeous display of foliage in the fall. The saplings that my father-in-law planted some forty odd years ago are now towering pines. What was once a meadow beside the house is now a thick wood. My in-laws still sleep in the same double bed they have throughout their marriage. The floors creak. The doors squeak. The rooms are drafty and are expensive to heat. There are squirrels in the attic. There are mice in the basement. There is a leak somewhere around the chimney. The view across the street is of a farm. The well water is consistently the best water I have ever tasted. There are two buildings on the property besides the house; there is a barn used for storage, and a store. My mother-in-law had a little country craft boutique there for many years. Before that, my father-in-law had a gas station right next door.
This is the place where my husband’s family grew up – the ancestral home. It was the site of many a birthday party, Christmas celebrations, Thanksgiving feasts, and two spectacular parties, one on their fiftieth and one on their sixtieth wedding anniversary.
On Thursday the movers are coming to pick up the furniture. A great deal of the furniture will have to go into storage. They are moving to a much smaller house. It is a neat, white, two-bedroom ranch-style house only a mile from where they live now. But you would think they were moving to another planet.
This house was built around the middle of the last century. It has a dishwasher, disposal, and city water. The basement is large, but the dining room is small. There is no fireplace. There is no second floor. It is next door to the Town Hall. There is no farm across the street. The lot is a tidy green square.
There were a lot of good reasons for the folks to move. The old house had become very demanding, of late: “Fix my chimney!”, “Wash my windows!” “Clean my gutters!” “Clean my septic!” “Paint my sides!” “Trim my trees!” “Weed my garden!” “Rake my leaves!” “Replace my heater!” The list was endless. Marge and Ed have worked so hard to keep up with it all, but at their stage of life, they simply had to let it go.
So, sadly, but bravely, they made their decision. The house they are moving to will be smaller, less demanding, more accommodating to their practical needs. I have no doubt that we will all miss the old house. But the little white house next to town hall will become a home. In time they will imbue it with their spirit. It will be a warm, lively, generous home that will have the smell of apple pie and freshly brewed coffee. Grandchildren and great-grandchildren will come. Trees will be planted. The neighbors will visit. There will be family gatherings at Thanksgiving and Christmas, although they might be a little cozier. And it will be a great place for Ed and Marge to begin their sixty-sixth year of marriage.
Home is a state of mind. It is a place in our hearts made manifest in wood, plaster, paint and glass.