To Build A Home.

“Why do you go away? So that you can come back. So that you can see the place you came from with new eyes and extra colors. And the people there see you differently, too. Coming back to where you started is not the same as never leaving.”

― Terry Pratchett, A Hat Full of Sky

The walls of my room were collaged with vinyl records, silk scarves, pictures of friends, family and travels, posters of musicians and past performances, old love notes, letters, postcards, awards, reminders, and anything you can think of from the time I was a teenager up until college. Before we came to Germany, I tore everything down and just cried. I knew that one day I would have to do it, but didn't realize how emotional it would be. I fell asleep to flaky, empty walls which seemed both disturbing and liberating. The faint lines of the glow in the dark stars I put up when I was a kid continued to glow, even though my dad scratched them off. As much as I wanted to ignore the fact we were selling our house, these faintly glowing stars showed me that I needed to face it. Warm summer breeze lulled me to sleep that night and reminded me how I may not feel this same peace for a long time. I painted my room white later that summer, and moved everything out; it was no longer mine.

In some ways, I was enlightened because at some point you need to move on from your life as an adolescent, but this time in my life was very special to me, and I was afraid that without my home, I would start to forget those special things that make me, me.

Everything seems bittersweet when you’re moving. You start to think about how well you know the place. You realize how well you know exactly where the light switches are on every corner…and recognize how each stairs creeks and how a special warmth comes with stepping inside the door. Outside, you focus on the way the bird’s chirp, the way the moss feels on your toes as you walk across areas of your house you may have never been to. Tears come to your eyes when you look at the way the light shines on the weathered wood shingles and the way each colorful mushroom catches your eye. Our home was alive. It was 7 acres of life that we loved and took care of. I sometimes saw animals running around the back, and spent hours with my cat watching the birds, squirrels and chipmunks. It was beautiful, and always will be.

I spent a couple months after graduating helping my dad move out of the house, and boy was that difficult; emotionally, physically and mentally. Moving uproots memories, both good and bad. I laughed at ridiculous notes and drawings from friends and winced at awkward photos and journals of my teenage years. The hardest thing for me to physically and emotionally put in storage was our piano. It was my grandmothers, and I am not sure that I went three days without playing it at least once.

The last night at my house, I sat in the hammock one last time – the lake felt as calm as ever with bull frogs grunting and a faint plane in the distance. It seemed like someone was always mowing their lawn across the lake and that night was no different. The sounds of the birds and bees were as familiar to me as the smell of the lake. It was cool enough to wear a sweatshirt and sweatpants, but warm enough to not shiver or feel the cold spread to my nose, hands and feet. I could even hear a fish line from nearby fishermen and only hoped, as I did for years, that it wouldn't get too close to me. I saw a blue heron on the lake, one that my family always got excited about…then noticed that the hammock seemed to hug my body as if it were giving me a fond farewell, telling me that I would find this same peace somewhere else in my life. But would it ever be this calm and refreshing? My house let me be me. New Hampshire let me be me…it let me look the way I wanted, let me think the thoughts I wanted, and moved me to appreciate beautiful things in life. The way the sweat bugs buzzed around my head suddenly seemed less annoying. I wanted to remember every last piece of my house, even though I knew that some of those memories would be left behind.  

Seven acres of woods allowed me to do absolutely anything I wanted. As a child, I pretended I was Pocahontas, developed callouses on my heals, spent hours catching bull frogs, made sand-pies in the dirt, explored the woods, hid out in the extremely high tree-house my dad built for me and had the epitome of the perfect childhood. I never really thought about cell phones or technology until high school and spent the majority of my time being curious and imaginative. I learned about myself and the world from being outside, and grew up in an extremely caring, loving community where everyone knew everyone’s business. I wouldn't trade my childhood for anything. In high school, I can fondly remember summer’s at Andy’s Summer Playhouse, but also the hours I spent in and outside my quiet house memorizing lines, reading honors English books and relaxing with friends and family on our dock, screened porch or boats.

One of the worst parts of leaving was letting go of my childhood hangout place, and witnessing the “omg, this is really happening” moment from my friends. Seeing tears in their eyes was both moving and also terrifying. I love them so much and we spent so many years together sharing memories and growing up together, rarely apart. The day my dad and I left for Germany, I was afraid my house would quickly sell and I would never see it again, and now that fear is reality. Leaving filled me with a sense of numbness. I was angry at the house for making me work so hard, I was delighted to remember so many memories, and I was saddened that I hadn't entirely digested all of my feelings about letting it go. I am still afraid that I will forget what it was like to grow up in my childhood home. I’m afraid I’ll forget the years of activities I participated in and the amazing people I met along the way. I’m scared that the images of places my friends and family hung out at for years will vanish. What happens if I forget that I used to pretend I ran a bakery kitchen in the woods, or if I forget how proud I was to show my parents the castles I made in the sand? Will my person change if I no longer have these memories?

Playing on the lake as a child. 

Childhood best friends walking to the town beach. 

Most people know the feeling of saying goodbye to a place they called home for many years. It’s not like I never left home for long periods of time, I studied abroad twice and went to college, however, I always had a home-base. This week, my dad took a plane back to Germany, after having completed the sale of our beautiful house. He came back to the place that we currently call home and felt both relieved and rejuvenated. Selling our house has almost been like experiencing a death in the family, as dramatic as that may sound, we spent hours trying to fix it, slowly and painfully let it go, and now feel relieved that it has gone to a better place.

My friend J. Cottle always joked in college that I grew up with “apple fairies.” I never quite understood what he meant; yet somehow felt that this statement encompassed truth. I grew up being naïve, carefree, and open-minded, and literally frolicked in fields. Although I won’t remember everything that went through my imagination as a child, I will remember that I am who I am today because of all the crazy things I did. I was never exposed to any type of danger, was inspired by the expansiveness of nature, spent hours creating art and music… I knew a lot about the world but was relatively sheltered in the best way possible. My family traveled a lot to various parts of the U.S., and learned a lot in a quiet, beautiful home on a lake that my parents designed themselves. The first seven years of my life were spent in two other homes in NH, however, none felt as much like home as our house on Scobie pond. (Or Haunted Lake.) This house defined my family. It gave me values, morals, and inspiration…and I plan to always carry these “apple fairies” with me.

During college, the dynamics of our house changed since my whole family was rarely there. Thus, in those years, I mainly remember going home to my dad on weekends and for vacations to yummy foods and fun home activities such as going to the Wilton Theater and seeing my best childhood friends. We watched many independent and foreign films on our comfy leather couch, read books, went skiing and snow-shoeing and on photography walks. We snow-shoed on the lake in the winter, listened to it groan and burp, and spent many hours in the kitchen just talking, cooking, and telling stories.

There are so many things I don’t think I could ever forget about NH, especially because the things I loved the most, I did repetitiously. I loved driving to Peterborough to school, getting excited for small town parades that encompassed a few family floats, many fire trucks and old vehicles. I even loved the annoying things, like getting stuck behind a tractor, having numerous snow-days which caused ridiculous school scheduling and being referred to as someone that “lives in the middle of nowhere.” didn't grow up going out to clubs on the weekends; I grew up having friends over to make cookies which lead to wine/girl talk nights in college. I spent hours with my friends talking and watching movies, bonding from childhood to adulthood.

I will miss many things, but mostly the idea that this house was the place where my whole family was together for a long time. I think about the times my sister and I sang together, or danced outside on the grass, the times I kayaked the whole lake with my dad and raced him back to the shore, and the times my mom and I set up painting stations or spent hours decorating the whole house at Christmas. I will miss getting in the car and taking back roads to get to the grocery store, the movie theater, friends’ houses, dump days with my dad, long days of driving back to college… the list goes on. I’ll miss raking and jumping in the leaves, fires on the beach with salmon and marshmallows, playing in the snow, and simply walking down our long, curvy driveway to get the mail. If it’s not obvious, living in the countryside allowed the child within me to continue living for many years…and perhaps now, that will always be the case.

It’s hard to believe I will never see that house again, never hike down the road to visit my friends at the beach, never stay up late with my family downstairs, never yell “Happy New Year” or other things across the lake to see if it echoes back, never sleep in late on Saturday summer mornings and feel the sweet summer breeze or sit on the porch with a hot cup of coffee and look at the Fall mist on the lake. New Hampshire is truly special. Maybe this is just because I grew up there, but to me, it’s unlike anywhere else and I will miss it, dearly, and hopefully visit it often.

I have really been thinking lately about how refreshing change can be and how important it is for a healthy soul and mind. It's hard to let go of some of the exciting parts of my past, but this life is for exploring and experiencing as much as I can and I am thankful to my family, friends and random strangers who help me to do so every day.

If you actually made it to the end of this long and perhaps semi boring, personal, emotional blog post, I hope that you were able to reflect with me on the importance of nature, family, focus, and love in people’s lives and the benefits of solitude. I have to say that I grew up being influenced greatly by authors such as Thoreau and Emerson, and have molded my life around the ideas of self-reliance and self- fulfillment. I challenge everyone who has moved to reflect on that place, write about it, explore the different ways you felt about it, both the good and the bad, and learn to accept it. Something that gives me peace is the fact that our house sold to a soon to retire couple that love to read, relax and appreciate nature. There is nothing better than knowing that a place you love is going to people who will take care of it and possibly enjoy it even more than you did.

The last beautiful sunset I saw on our lake. (Scobie Pond, Francestown, NH) 

PS: I named this blog “To Build A Home” after a song by Cinematic Orchestra, sung by Patrick Watson. To me, the song touches on how satisfying certain parts or aspects of your life can be, but also how they are ever-changing, and no –matter how tightly we hold onto them, sometimes we lose them, or they disappear. Although this seems a bit sad, I think that the song (musically) focuses on how important it is to enjoy these moments we have rather than focusing on their permanence. I believe that it is important to focus on the beauty in each moment with the knowledge that those moments will pass, and new beautiful moments will fill their place.