Nowhere Like Here

I'm beginning to feel a bit more like myself. I informed Dave the other day that "It is terribly difficult to be upset at the beach." His answer was immediate and only half-joking: "You mean you were trying?" A fair enough question considering that I spent a good portion of my first full day back on Amelia Island reaching out and poking at my inner worries with a stick as though to see if they were still there. It's like taunting a hungry dog with food and expecting it not to at the very least be put off by your pestering. But the beach is wonderful. Maybe it's because my parents used the sound of running water to lull me to sleep as a child or maybe my inner soul is a pirate, but either way this terrible sense of peace falls over me when I'm on the sea shore. Terrible only because it seems so much larger than myself. It's a strange sensation to be swallowed entirely by something you cannot see.

When I attempted to explain all this to my mother she laughed and stretched her arms wide. "It's because you're home!" She declared matter-of-factly. "Home is supposed to let you step out of your skin for a bit." It's an odd notion to call this place 'home'. Currently we are staying at a rental house on the Island while my parents wait to relocate to their newly purchased farm house (minus the farm). The rooms are half put together and boxes are half-hidden in corners. But it's tidy for the most part, if you don't look into my brother's room or the place my father uses as his 'office'. Everything that one could need is present and what isn't can be acquired by a quick jaunt down the road to Harris Teeter-- which happens at least once daily. Although, that could be attributed to just getting out of the house than any actual need. But I digress. She wasn't really talking about the place. Home, particularly the Southern definition of home, is the people. Well, that and the region itself.

Something I've also found touching during these past few days is the way my mother has been seeking out southern food that I can eat. Where I immediately turned away from all my favorites when I discovered my laundry list of food allergies, my mom decided that there was a way to make this work. Like tonight we had baked chicken, English peas and yams (have I told you how much I am in love with sweet potatoes?). All simple and easy and free of things that make me ill. It was nice. All of it is, really.