I am homesick.
There are no two ways about it. I am, completely, totally, and utterly homesick.
Oddly enough, it's not for my childhood home. I don't long for the brash sights and overbearing sounds and familiarity of sun-drenched Southern California. It goes without saying, I certainly don't miss the earthquakes which were trademarks of a childhood spent in the Golden State. Don't get me wrong, I miss my folks and my siblings, but I haven't considered So Cal "home" for the longest time.
The place I call "home", Cape Elizabeth, Maine (and have since practically setting foot in the small town for the first time years ago whilst on holiday), is 40 miles south of where we are now. More than a decade ago when I first visited what some would consider it's most famous landmark, the Portland Headlight, (one of the most photographed lighthouses in the world), I sat there beneath the beacon, facing into the wind and let the salty sea-spray wash over me. As I looked out over the sapphire waters of the Atlantic Ocean, something whispered to me, "this is home."
This photograph was taken on that same trip.
A few years, several cross-country, and two international moves later, I don't think anyone was surprised when the hubby and I announced we were returning to the states and would be settling in this little coastal town in southern Maine.
We have now spent a year away from "home" in the house we bought that we thought would be so perfect. If you were to ask me what the impetus was, to buy elsewhere than Cape, I'd probably have told you, back then, I was lured by the big house on the huge lot as homes in Cape easily cost twice what they do in our new neighborhood. Sometimes though, you get what you pay for; a big house on a large lot and that's all. Back then, I wasn't willing to settle for small and cozy back in Cape, nope I had to have more and I had to have it right now. Whilst no one could have foretold the events that have led me to abhor living where we do now, looking back, I wish we'd not jumped quite so quickly into what has become little more than the walls and roof that hold our belongings and where we lay our heads to rest at night.
I have tried to not let my own personal bias for the people in this town and what they've done to me, influence the ache in my heart that calls southward and reaches for familiarity, comfort and solace amongst people whom I know and love. From my very first landlord who, upon the day I vacated her home mowed me a farewell peace sign in her backyard, and who is now one of my closest friends...
...To our wonderful neighbors who we'd often see walking down the street on a crisp winter morning, heading for the beach to cross-country ski along the shore. I still can hear the sound of "J" crunching along in the icy snow whilst the Little Imp waved after him.
This is the same neighbor who, before we bit the bullet and bought our own snow blower, came and plowed our drive for us in the biting wind and sub-zero temps. All he'd accept in return was a cup of hot chocolate and a giggle and smile from the Little Imp.
I am often asked what makes Cape Elizabeth hold the special place it does, in my heart. Is it the lighthouses that dot the bucolic shore? Is it the coastline itself, where I've spent hour upon hour walking, dipping my toes in the icy waters, daydreaming, and soaking up the sun? No. There is no singular landmark that draws me back homeward. It is the people themselves, the residents of Cape Elizabeth that make it so endearing.
The last neighborhood in Cape that we lived in, was a cove-side area with small Cape Cod and Colonial homes that lined our street. The moving truck that delivered our belongings to our new home had no sooner departed than 'Mr. and Mrs. I' were at our door with a pan of fresh, warm brownies welcoming us and asking after the kids. I used to think you only read about neighbors like this in the pages of Better Homes and Gardens or witnessed the likeness of Bree VanDeKamp from Desperate Housewives on TV. 'Mrs I' beats Bree, hands down any day, as we would find out that Christmas season, as she is literally a cookie baking wizard!
One of the town's librarians lived on our street as well. If the hubby and I happened to be out walking as dusk settled and she was out tending her garden, she'd often invite us in for a glass of wine. Often, whilst standing and talking to her, other neighbors would step outside and join in the conversation. The Little Imp basked in the attention of the other children on our street and their giggles would echo throughout the cove and out onto Crescent Beach.
I look back and it's hard to believe the person I was back then. I was such a social creature, and it was second nature to welcome our neighbors into our home for late summer BBQ's and our annual Christmas party. The person I have become now shies away from social interaction with anyone unless I absolutely must.
Walking along Crescent Beach at sunset we'd often pass by our neighbors and others who lived along the beach. No matter who they were, whether they knew us or not, they were never these aloof, keep-to-themselves people that Mainer's sometimes have a reputation of being. They'd always exchange friendly banter with us asking our names and making sure they included the Little Imp in our conversations as well. Often we'd end up meeting the parents of some of the kids Zack went to school with.
These same people who extended us kindness and friendship were the very same individuals who helped Zack adjust after coming to live with us. He'd come from a horrific experience back in WA and we feared there might be some bumps in the road when it came to settling in with us and to the culture shock of not only living with a parent he hadn't lived with for more than a decade, but the change between the west and east coast, the weather, and adjusting to life with a new step-parent and a toddler sibling. The Cape school district welcomed him with open arms and went the extra mile to make him feel at home. They bent over backwards to help him excel in school, facilitate friendships and join in extracurricular athletic activities.
Even when things went pear-shaped and we realized he wanted to return to WA, those same people did everything they could to help us through that difficult time, as did our neighbors, who more often than not, acted as sounding boards when we needed to vent as parents, and seek reassurance that what we were doing was the right thing.
I've never met such warm, friendly and welcoming people in all the many places I've lived, including time spent on another continent entirely.
I grew up watching old classics like Leave it to Beaver, Bewitched, I Love Lucy, My Three Sons and Gidget. I'd often wonder if the sorts of towns portrayed in those shows existed in real life, or only in the minds of the writers and on Hollywood back lots. I used to dream about cute little cottages adorned with blooming gardens full of blossoming roses, lush green grass, and happy purple pansies. They were bordered by white picket fences with friendly dogs that came bounding out to greet you with a friendly "woof" as you passed by. There came a time after the death of my son and the painful ensuing years, when I gave up on ever finding an ideal place to live.
Then I moved to Cape Elizabeth and came to the realization that it's not the landscaping that frames a home or the house itself that makes a neighborhood what it is. It's the people that live there and the depth of their hearts, the bounty of their generosity and their welcoming nature which makes them not only our neighbors, but our friends and helped make not only our house, but our town, our home.
Cape Elizabeth will always be home, in our hearts. One day, I can't say when, we hope to make it our physical home once again.
