Lately, I was thinking about sense of "place" and recalled a moment last summer during a trip to Iowa. As I relaxed on a friend's porch at sunrise, the cool night air still resisting the impending heat of the new day, I thought of how beautiful and serene the setting was and realized at that moment, it seemed perfect. Cares melted away as I watched a woodpecker going about its energetic business in the woods and ducks paddling on the glassy pond. I then pondered the question, "If I feel this good here, why did I ever leave?"
Perhaps we all spend most of our lives striving for that perfect place, our retreat, the sanctuary, a paradise. For some, it is a cottage nestled lakeside in the rolling Iowa hills, for others it is a cabin in the Cascades, a townhouse in Boston, or simply a home in the neighborhood of one's youth in a small town.
For me--and happily, for Kat too--it is the Maine coast woods. It is the only place where I have felt completely nurtured by nature's rhythms. But that is me. It is futile to extol the virtues of one's Nirvana in hopes of convincing others to love it, too. We probably do it for selfish reasons: We want those we care about to move closer to us. I think it is better to celebrate a sense of place and be grateful for the opportunity to live in our designated retreats.
The world is full of beautiful and fascinating places. How wonderful it is to have so many friends living in their chosen sanctuaries, and to have the chance to visit each other, sharing in the pleasure of friendship and enjoyment of each other's special place.
