Being Home

The fields on the drive home from the airport.

Recently, after nearly a week on picturesque Prince Edward Island, Canada, I returned home to the flatland.  I left behind rolling fields of clover and goldenrod and potatoes, and views of water from nearly every window of the house my brother had rented for the family.  I was a little sad to leave.

I flew in to landlocked central Illinois in the evening, and on the drive home, I marveled at the golden light on the cornfields.  The sky was dramatic--as it so often is here in the Midwest--with layers of rich gray that made me want to reach for my watercolors.

Early the next morning, before darkness had lifted, I stumbled to the bathroom still half asleep.  In the hallway, I bumped against the ironing board on my right, Marilyn's work clothes laid out on it for the day.  Touching that old ironing board, I felt a rush of affection for the ordinariness and predictability of my life. 

I was home.  And it felt good.

Beautiful even during the drought.

Marilyn stopped to show me horses she had seen on a recent drive home.

Last Friday afternoon, on the way to work, the sky seemed almost unreal--and yet very Midwestern.  (By the way, the slope leads to a bridge going over a highway; the land is still flat.)

I parked the car on campus and then had to take another photo.

I pulled over to admire the big sky while driving home from Saturday errands.

This was my view of the backyard as I ate lunch and read on the deck on one of my last days before returning to work.  A hummingbird has been visiting the zinnias quite regularly but isn't in this photo.

Paying Attention to the Petunias

Not watching the clock constantly—that is my favorite thing about summer break.  As I transition to the fall semester, I mourn the loss of the peace of being in the moment, really being in it, without one eye on the clock that will tell me to move on to the next responsibility. 

Every year, I wonder how I will cope with the change from contemplation to rushing, from solitude to teaching multiple groups of students five days a week.

A pot of petunias reminded me how I cope. 

The pot is in a corner of the deck; pale blooms with dark centers flow out of the pot like an extravagant bridal bouquet.  I noticed this cascade of flowers on a recent evening as I ate dinner outside with friends.  My eyes were drawn to the petunias even as I listened to the conversation and joined in the laughter.  The beauty of those blooms filled me up. 

Paying attention to the petunias grounded me and refreshed me.  On busy days, focusing on such beauty, even for a few minutes, will bring peace.  When the rushing is wearing me out, I will remember to pause and to pay attention to the petunias. 

August Haiku on Prince Edward Island

Lone lupin swaying
among Queen Anne's lace, purple
cone and white doilies.

(Thanks to my sister-in-law for spotting the lupin and to her and my nephews for working on the haiku with me).