Growing up, I was never the kid who got homesick. I was willing to go anywhere, for any length of time.
That changed when Mr. Hippie and I started courting. Suddenly I wanted to be home, with this guy.
Compare the summer of ’99 with the summer of 2000. Left for camp cooking in ’99 about mid June, and didn’t come home until almost September. Gone over 10 weeks. Maybe one phone call, very little mail, no email. Just fine.
Summer of 2000-up to camp mid June. Leaving a boyfriend behind. The same boyfriend who lost the address and phone number of the camp. And who sent his letters without enough postage so they got returned. And who broke my heart-almost.
It was 4 weeks into the summer, and no word from the boyfriend for the Barefoot Hippie Girl up in the Canadian wilderness. My multiple lengthy epistles had gone unanswered. I was wondering if he still liked me. Did he even remember me? Maybe he had a new girlfriend, and hadn’t had the heart to tell me.
The other camp staff were teasing me, wondering out loud if I had made this boyfriend up. Maybe I had cut his pictures out of a magazine.
I was in tears. The girl who never cries. I had to go home. “Please let me go home. Just for the weekend. I promise I will come back.”
Yes, Mr. Hippie made me homesick-before he was even Mr. Hippie.
Suffice it to say, I went home for the weekend, saw the guy, and we got things worked out. I can even laugh about his communication foibles years later.
But, I still get homesick. I get homesick for my man. I get homesick for our house. This home we have made together. Our home rhythm.
I am always happy to go away, but even more happy to go home.
Someone else said it much better than I ever could...
"Be it ever so humble...There’s no place like home."
*This was supposed to be about DC. I’m really not sure how we ended up here. Oh well
