Home
19/10/23 01:32
Last evening I vacuumed out the cold air return and changed the filter on our furnace. It is one of those small homeowner chores that I don’t mind. For 25 years, I didn’t have that chore. Our home in Rapid City was heated with electric baseboard units and had no central system for forced air. But changing the filter is one of those autumn chores that is necessary in a system with circulating air. During those 25 years, I paid attention to the annual changing of filters in the heating system of the church where I served as pastor, so it makes sense to have putting a new filter in the furnace be one of my autumn chores.
It definitely feels like autumn here even though it is different from other places where we have lived. The days are shorter, and the change is more dramatic here on the 49th parallel than it was when we lived in more southerly places. The trees are changing color, though I’m guessing that the peak of the color is still ahead of us. There will be more yellow in the birches in a week or so. The ornamental bushes in our front yard have lost their leaves and the wind keeps blowing them onto our front porch. I sweep them off and the wind blows them back. It is a little competition that so far the wind is winning.
One thing is different from other places where we have lived. After having been dormant for a month or more, fall rains have rejuvenated our lawn. When I mowed it on Tuesday it was longer than I usually allow it to grow between mowings. The challenge is finding a time when the rains let up enough to allow the lawn to dry enough to mow. Although some of my neighbors and several professional lawn services that work in the neighborhood mow in the rain, that is something I just haven’t begun to do. I don’t need a day with no rain, just a few hours with a little sunlight and a little wind to make the grass dry enough to be picked up with the bagging attachment on the mower.
The combination of returning from South Carolina and cooler temperatures has meant that I grab a jacket before heading outside. The strangeness of that is that I seem to be a bit more chilly than was the case in other places we have lived. When temperatures are in the low 60s, I feel the need for a jacket, something that I rarely did when we lived in drier climates. High humidity seems to put a chill in the air that even has me reaching for a stocking cap and gloves while temperatures are still in the 50s.
Two years have passed since we purchased this home and moved in. The landmarks on the drive to our home are familiar. I know where to expect that deer might be on the road, where the curves demand slowing a bit as I drive, where the 4-way stop signs are located, and where the speed limit changes on the drive between home and the church. The neighborhood was decorated for Halloween when we moved into our home and it is similarly decorated these days. We know more about local celebrations and should be adequately prepared for the number of trick or treaters who will cross our front porch this year. Despite warnings by neighbors, we fell a bit short the first year we were in this house.
As I drove the very familiar route from our son’s farm to our house yesterday I got to thinking about the concept of home. A scan of my journal archives reveals that I have often written about home. Most of the entries about home have come as I returned from a trip. When I started this journal, I traveled quite a bit more than I currently do.
I am not sure that being a resident of northwestern Washington quite feels like home for me. At least it seems to be taking me a while to feel like a local resident. I’ve got Washington license plates on my vehicles and a Washington Driver’s license in my pocket. I gave the right answer when someone in South Carolina said, “You’re not from around here are you.” I’ve started to say that my home is a 15 minute walk from the beach and a 10 minute drive from Canada when describing where I live to folks who have never been here. There is a part of me that still thinks a bit like a South Dakotan. I know the stories of our indigenous neighbors in South Dakota far better than I know the stories of the Lumi and Nooksack peoples. And even though I lived in South Dakota for 25 years, sometimes I still think of myself as a Montanan. I moved away from Montana when I was 21 years old and haven’t lived there since, but there is something about the place of my birth that sticks with me.
Perhaps I am just a bit less anchored in a single place than was the case when I was younger. I have had several homes where I have enjoyed living. I am aware that I am unlikely to live in this particular house as long as we lived in our South Dakota house. Folks tend to move quite a bit as they age, and I suppose that we’ll one day come to the point in our lives where we will want a place where we don’t have to climb stairs to get to our bedroom.
Still, I am happy where I live. I feel very content and comfortable in this place. I have a deep sense of gratitude that I have such a comfortable place to live. And I still appreciate having a few chores like changing furnace filters and mowing the lawn that are signs of home ownership for me. I am home even as I acknowledge that there are other places that have been my home. I’m even getting used to grabbing my rain jacket as I head for the door.
It definitely feels like autumn here even though it is different from other places where we have lived. The days are shorter, and the change is more dramatic here on the 49th parallel than it was when we lived in more southerly places. The trees are changing color, though I’m guessing that the peak of the color is still ahead of us. There will be more yellow in the birches in a week or so. The ornamental bushes in our front yard have lost their leaves and the wind keeps blowing them onto our front porch. I sweep them off and the wind blows them back. It is a little competition that so far the wind is winning.
One thing is different from other places where we have lived. After having been dormant for a month or more, fall rains have rejuvenated our lawn. When I mowed it on Tuesday it was longer than I usually allow it to grow between mowings. The challenge is finding a time when the rains let up enough to allow the lawn to dry enough to mow. Although some of my neighbors and several professional lawn services that work in the neighborhood mow in the rain, that is something I just haven’t begun to do. I don’t need a day with no rain, just a few hours with a little sunlight and a little wind to make the grass dry enough to be picked up with the bagging attachment on the mower.
The combination of returning from South Carolina and cooler temperatures has meant that I grab a jacket before heading outside. The strangeness of that is that I seem to be a bit more chilly than was the case in other places we have lived. When temperatures are in the low 60s, I feel the need for a jacket, something that I rarely did when we lived in drier climates. High humidity seems to put a chill in the air that even has me reaching for a stocking cap and gloves while temperatures are still in the 50s.
Two years have passed since we purchased this home and moved in. The landmarks on the drive to our home are familiar. I know where to expect that deer might be on the road, where the curves demand slowing a bit as I drive, where the 4-way stop signs are located, and where the speed limit changes on the drive between home and the church. The neighborhood was decorated for Halloween when we moved into our home and it is similarly decorated these days. We know more about local celebrations and should be adequately prepared for the number of trick or treaters who will cross our front porch this year. Despite warnings by neighbors, we fell a bit short the first year we were in this house.
As I drove the very familiar route from our son’s farm to our house yesterday I got to thinking about the concept of home. A scan of my journal archives reveals that I have often written about home. Most of the entries about home have come as I returned from a trip. When I started this journal, I traveled quite a bit more than I currently do.
I am not sure that being a resident of northwestern Washington quite feels like home for me. At least it seems to be taking me a while to feel like a local resident. I’ve got Washington license plates on my vehicles and a Washington Driver’s license in my pocket. I gave the right answer when someone in South Carolina said, “You’re not from around here are you.” I’ve started to say that my home is a 15 minute walk from the beach and a 10 minute drive from Canada when describing where I live to folks who have never been here. There is a part of me that still thinks a bit like a South Dakotan. I know the stories of our indigenous neighbors in South Dakota far better than I know the stories of the Lumi and Nooksack peoples. And even though I lived in South Dakota for 25 years, sometimes I still think of myself as a Montanan. I moved away from Montana when I was 21 years old and haven’t lived there since, but there is something about the place of my birth that sticks with me.
Perhaps I am just a bit less anchored in a single place than was the case when I was younger. I have had several homes where I have enjoyed living. I am aware that I am unlikely to live in this particular house as long as we lived in our South Dakota house. Folks tend to move quite a bit as they age, and I suppose that we’ll one day come to the point in our lives where we will want a place where we don’t have to climb stairs to get to our bedroom.
Still, I am happy where I live. I feel very content and comfortable in this place. I have a deep sense of gratitude that I have such a comfortable place to live. And I still appreciate having a few chores like changing furnace filters and mowing the lawn that are signs of home ownership for me. I am home even as I acknowledge that there are other places that have been my home. I’m even getting used to grabbing my rain jacket as I head for the door.
