Where We Love Is Home

Morning in Strasburg, the view across the street from my childhood home

On the wall in my Teardrop hangs a note card with a simple, lovely line drawing of a barn, a field and a fence entitled, “Where We Love Is Home”. I bought the card in Moab, Utah, but the scene reminds me of where I grew up: Strasburg, Pennsylvania, the heart of Amish Country.

Somebody asked me recently if I ever get homesick and I honestly replied no. Living on the road, waking up in a new place just about everyday, I make a conscious effort to enjoy where I am and not to pine for elsewhere. In part, the note card is there to remind me that if I find something to love about every place I go, I will always be Home.

Wildflower field in British Columbia

I do occasionally feel very far from the places and people I know and love. Last week I spent five days out of touch – no cell service, no wifi – and when I resurfaced, I was glad to hear familiar voices on the other end of the line.  A few days later, driving the Alaskan Highway between Fort Saint John and Dawson Creek, I took a graveled side road off the highway, in search of free camping, and drove right down nostalgia lane.

With its rolling hills, long vistas and endless fields, the farmlands west of the highway looked so much like Strasburg that I half expected to see a straw-hatted Amishman plowing with a team of mules. Turning off the gravel road, onto a dirt side road, I parked at the end, next to a John Deere tractor, and set off on foot across the fields.

John Deere, British Columbia

I grew up walking along the edges of fields, on old wagon paths that border planted rows, following ruts as old and deep as agriculture. Fields are where I first learned to explore, where I learned to pay attention to the smell of wildflowers, grass and earth, the sound of wind, honeybees and birds, the feel of long dewey grass running across my fingertips.

Wildflowers & Sky, After the Rain

Plucking a strand of British Columbian grass, putting it between my teeth, the taste is familiar too. I love this field. I am 3,000 miles from Strasburg, but I am Home.

Tall Grass, Stealth D.O.G.

Dedicated to my sister Sarah, who’s an ocean away from Home, in Germany.

About theblondecoyote

Mary Caperton Morton is a freelance science and travel writer with degrees in biology and geology and a master’s in science writing. A regular contributor to EARTH magazine, where her favorite beat is the Travels in Geology column, she has also written for the anthologies Best Women's Travel Writing 2010 and Best Travel Writing 2011. Mary is currently traveling the backroads from New Mexico to Alaska, writing and living out of a tiny Teardrop camper. When she’s not at the computer she can usually be found outside -- hiking, climbing mountains and taking photographs. Visit her website at www.marycapertonmorton.com.
This entry was posted in Beyond the USA, Bowie & D.O.G., Hiking!, Photography, Road tripping!, Vagabonding 101. Bookmark the permalink.

19 Responses to Where We Love Is Home

  1. Barneysday says:

    Well said, thanks for sharing

  2. Wynne says:

    Just lovely!

  3. JBPhotography says:

    I grew up in New Holland, PA Beautiful country!

  4. Gunta says:

    Love the stealth D.O.G. and the other stuff, too.

  5. Beautiful images, and you are so right, so smart, so wise to know that you carry your happiness with you wherever you go! Z

  6. Donna says:

    I am addicted to your lovely and thoughtful writings and adventures. Keep it up, it makes my day to see that you have added a posting!

  7. Joni says:

    I’ve never been out of the South except when I went to Germany when my dad was in the army and I was only 3,4 and 5 (l0l). I can’t wait to visit the North, Midwest and West part of this great country!
    Take care,
    Joni

  8. evea192 says:

    So, how do it feel to be home?

  9. Vicki says:

    So beautiful. Thank you for sharing.

  10. Alice says:

    Home is lovely–those hills and trees. I can almost smell it. Home is a Moveable Feast.

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