home….again…and again…and again…

As a child, there were places that my family vacationed where we returned again and again. And by vacation...I mean camped in a tent. In the rain. In the snow. In the heat. I loved it.

Tuolumne Meadows was a favorite spot for years. In the last several years I’ve been there for a few reasons – starting with picking up Mike, our friend, the PCT backpacker. (He didn’t know that he was doing me a favor giving me an excuse to make a run up the mountain.) Then I dragged a few hardy friends up to stay in the rustic tent cabins for a night. They humored me on that one. Blair went with me for a quick day trip to celebrate my dad (code for scattering some ashes). The two of us hiked to the top of Lembert Dome, wandered through the campground, had a burger and cone in the tent café, and then made the long drive home…all in a day. It was quite the emotional day.

Dad was a John Muir Trail backpacker far longer than his family thought was safe, but it was his happy place. It was his home so we didn’t argue. We just held our breath until he returned home – dusty and tired, but happy. Many years ago, he likely had a heart attack on the trail when he was with his buddy John. There was definitely some sort of health incident on that hike, but John managed to escort him safely home. And of course, he was fine when he got home so why go to the doctor? Many years after that incident when he was being tested for some illness, the doctor asked him when he had his heart attack. Yep. Dad was a strong and stubborn bugger.

So like my dad, Tuolumne remains one of my homes. That place where I just go….ahhhhhh…..

Glen and I just spent a month in Whitefish, Montana at a house on the lake. That’s an immediate aahhhhhh for me. I’ve come to realize that water…any sort of water creates a home in my soul. But…is Whitefish a home for me? As Glen says, it’s complicated. As with all homes, there are good memories and some not-so-good memories. We’ve been coming to Whitefish for decades. Glen came with a group of buddies for golf the first time, then we started coming with the kids for winter skiing and summer lake fun. Here’s a bit of the history that makes our Whitefish story…

Many years ago, we loved Whitefish and Montana so much that we bought property there. Not just some house or condo in town, but 90+ acres outside of town. It was in a field with a ridge in the middle, a creek on the edge, a view of the mountains, and it was on “Farm to Market Road”. What could be more “country”? We also had a couple 4-plex apartments and a lot in town with plans to build a “live-work” building. Part-time living in Montana was in our future. Then…Glen got sick and 2008 happened. During that rough patch, I spent my nights trying to get to sleep by dreaming of the house we were going to build on the 90 acres. In my mind, I designed the house inside and out until eventually, amid the worry, I was able to fall asleep. So our story took a twist that we didn’t see coming and instead of a dream, Whitefish became a challenge to overcome though not quite a nightmare, for me anyway.

Glen’s a genius and he maneuvered us through the challenges of that time (his physical and our financial), but it changed our relationship with Whitefish. Was it still our happy place? Did it still feel like home? Could we create a new relationship with it? We weren’t sure. We had to test it. So after many years away, one summer we came back to Whitefish for a month. It felt pretty good. And we tried it again. And we came in winter and…pretty soon though we knew we’d never live in Whitefish and we definitely weren’t going to be property owners, but we could be respectful visitors with history and we started creating a new Whitefish story for us.

Then I retired and we started our new life of travel. Let me define our version of travel. We like to go someplace and stay for at least a month, preferably a couple months. So a few years ago we went to Brooklyn for three months. Loved it. Loved the long-term, get-to-know- the place and people, actually live in the place kind of travel.

Last year we were in Europe for a four month trip. About half way through, we knew that Glen’s health wasn’t right so we were going to have to cut our trip short. I vividly remember sitting on the couch in our apartment in Nice as we made plans to come home and we were (okay…I was) feeling sorry for ourselves. (I know. Ridiculous to feel sorry for oneself while sitting in Nice.) I think it was me who said…Hey we can go to Whitefish next year. And we can get a house on the lake. And I started researching Airbnb until I found the perfect house and I rented it from the couch in Nice for the following summer. For us, that was a very spontaneous act. We usually ponder these travels for a long time before we actually rent a residence (without the ability to cancel-yikes).

So, we came home from Europe and Glen began his adjustment to his new life and we had almost a year to look forward to Whitefish. We did sneak in a month in Hawaii last spring.

So back to the beginning…with a house on the lake – ahhhhhhh – summer solstice providing L O N G days, and views of sunset over the lake every night, we tested our relationship with Whitefish. Was it still home? Glen’s new physical reality meant that he had to do some deep thinking about his relationship with Whitefish. While he could be there, he couldn’t experience the mountains the way he used to…no hiking for him. And what’s Whitefish without Glacier?

So while it immediately felt like my home, would it feel like our home? I’m not sure that’s been answered for Glen. Seems like every question leads to another question rather than an answer…

What is home?