Home Recipe

 

As the school year rolls to a painstakingly slow close, my heart aches for home.

My 8th graders are done (and pretty much have been for about three weeks). My colleagues are done (our witty banter has slumped to bland comments about the weather between blank stares). My inner cheerleader is spent (I've never been good at feigning enthusiasm). And to those who have ever found themselves saying something like, "But you're a teacher. You have your summers off!" I usually reply with a laugh, "I know! I don't know why everyone doesn't do it."  But the truth is, my body is crying for that ever-blessed two-and-a-half-month stretch affectionately known as "Summer Vacation" but should really be called "Recovery Period". 

I need to be home. Not on vacation. Not on a beach or at some cabin in the woods. Home. I just want to go home.

I want to get up with the birds, water and weed my gardens, love and train my horses.  Care for my chickens, dogs, and cat. Scoop poop. Cook and bake. Clean the house. Hang laundry outside in the sunshine. Mow. Make my weird and wonderful crafts. Read books and write reviews for those books. 

Most of all, I want to write. I want to curl inward at my laptop and let Forever Fields engulf me. I can't wait to see what Paisley Noon gets up to in the days to come. Even typing these words makes me smile.

Here is a poem I wrote long ago. I typically share it with newlyweds and then give the couple a fun collection of handwritten starter recipes. But for some reason, it hits home with me today. 

Enjoy!

Home Recipe

By Julie Christen

 

What does it take to create a home?

A place where you’ll never again feel alone?

 

If it was all written on a recipe card,

I bet it’d be complex, but prob’ly not hard.

 

You’d start with a crate full of laughter for flavor,

Then mix in a dozen warm memories to savor.

 

A bowl full of ideas, hopes, and big plans,

A heart full of love, you’d fold in with your hands.

 

Then you’d sprinkle a palm-full of hard lessons learned,

And season it all with each triumph you earn.

 

Next, you’d mix it all up with some family and friends,

And mash it and mold it, smooth out bumps and bends.

 

The secret ingredients: heritage and advice

Will be just what it needs to add mystery and spice.

You’d bake it inside four walls strong and sturdy

For as long as it takes … be it one year or thirty.

 

You’ll know when it’s ready; it’ll be no surprise

And serve generous portions to all who stop by.

 

Yes, that’s how that recipe card would look

If it were a part of a homemade cookbook.