My heart is full. Again. It’s full in the way that only a sense of home can deliver, even a scattered home.
At the gate of our Vitoria home—This house of three short and early years expands in my mind and dreams larger than any of my homes.
Before I turned 32, I experienced home in at least two countries, six states, fifteen cities, eleven houses, nine college apartments/rentals, and three dorms. Conversely, since I turned 33, I’ve been in the same house. As of last month, I’ve had the same address for thirty-three full years. And still… some of the residences I left behind are home in my head.
Last week I left home for six nights to visit with my daughter and her spouse. We spent most of our time in their home in Chicago and a few days working on the inner-city farm plots they manage. We also visited the farm property north of Chicago, where they will move in about a year.
I always enjoy spending time with my adult children. But the extremeness of this visit (a thirteen hour drive each way and staying in their house) uncovered new awareness and nuance for me.
The Woodstock, IL, farm folding into my scattered homes
This is the first visit in the home of a child that wasn’t just a visit or help with moving. I was able to sink my toes into their home and the routines they have cultivated. I experienced the structure of their lives.
The best part of the visit: their home is not my home, but I was at home there.
My daughter hasn’t duplicated all the patterns of the home she grew up in, but her childhood home is subtly stitched into hers. And I suspect her Chicago house (as well as her houses in Baton Rouge and New Orleans) will inform decisions she makes about home when she moves into the farmhouse next year.
Scattered and Home
My children are scattered now, one across town from me, one a bit more than an hour south, and one thirteen hours north. They all have a thing or two from “home,” from this house where they grew up. I mostly hope they took with them a sense of home.
Even though I haven’t slept under the roofs nor padded around barefoot through the settled homes of the two who live closest to me, whenever I visit them, I discover they have also created welcoming, peaceful spaces. This brings me joy, and their homes expand my sense of home.
As complicated as the concept can be for me, the meaning for me is simple: warm, safe, and cozy. I found the warmth, safety, and coziness of home under my child’s roof. This filled my heart and scattered my sense of home even farther.
©Pennie Nichols. All Rights Reserved. 2025.
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