Roots

I grew up an Air Force Brat. At the mercy of the winds, blowin about like a tumbleweed, rootless.  I was born on Cape Cod.  Lived on base in Japan and  Mississippi.  Bounced back and forth from NH to Maine a few times.  Spent a couple of years in upstate New York and a few more in Maryland when my dad was posted to the Pentagon. To this day--even though Dad retired in 1975 and I've lived in New England since--when people ask where I'm from, I always answer: I'm from everywhere, and nowhere; I'm a military Brat.  I met many other Brats along the way, some of them moved many more times than I did, lived in more overseas posts away from American culture than I.  I feel fortunate in that regard, that I never had to pick up and move in the middle of the school year.  If need be, my dad would move on to the next place and we'd follow when the school year had finished.  He also had temporary assignments where we would stay behind and he'd be gone for months on TDY.  Yet there was always that impending sense, that nothing, no place was permanant; that friends you made, places you grew accustomed to, were bound to be left behind. 

I don't know how my siblings feel, but for me, the closest I felt to a real family home was the cottage on the Maine coast that we started renting each summer, starting in the early '70's and continued to rent for 20+ years.  My parents funded the expense the first few years, then as we kids grew older and started working, we all chipped in to cover the rent.  We loved the place so much that we were willing to part with huge chunks of the income we earned by working in local restaurants.  And we built alot of memories there.  Boat fights. Wake boarding. Snorkeling. Surfing. "The Chasm." "The Tub." Crab apple fights. Lobster feasts.  Towering card houses, and epic games of Monopoly on rainy days.  Climbing on the roof to check the surf across the river and over the dunes.  Sneaking in and out of the house past curfew, climbing the lattice work, onto the shed roof, the through the upstairs window that had a tear in the screen that you could reach through to unhook the latch.  Thunderstorms. Hurricanes.  And on one occasion, even rumors of a Tsunami. 

But even "The Cottage" had an a foreboding sense of impermanance to it.  We knew as we grew older, as some of us began to start families of our own, that our days there were numbered.  We offered a number of times to purchase the home from the owners.  But they were unwilling to sell; it was their family cottage.  They had built their own memories there.  We moved on...

I married young and started a family.  Purchased a starter home near the beach but as the kids began to grow, we moved further inland, to a suburban neighborhood.  A new development, similar to ones I'd lived in after my parents stopped living on base and purchased homes each time we moved as, "an investment."  It wasn't my choice of where to live (been there, done that; cookie cutter homes) but it was a nice community for kids.  Still, though I lived there longer than I've ever lived in one place in my life, there was always that sense that it wasn't to last.  Raising our kids, I watched many families move on, friendships and relationships scattered just as I'd witnessed my entire life.  Some moved on because of work, or desires for nicer homes in better neighborhoods; many moved on as their marriages broke apart... There was that foreboding sense again, that nothing, nowhere is permanant.  Somewhere deep within my soul, I knew that my own marriage was doomed.  It wasn't...right.  I was not alone in this assesment.  But like many do, we stayed together to raise the kids, knowing that our days as a family were numbered...that this too, would pass...

I've been through alot in the few years since it all collapsed.  Lost nearly everything, and everyone...  But after the wind stopped howling, after I tumbled to a stop, to a rest, I found my sanctuary.  I live in Maine now.  I'm not just here temporarily; this is my home.  I purchased a small bungalow; it's only 650sf and it needs alot of work.  But it's close enough to the ocean I love that on some days I can even smell it.  I'm surrounded by woods and a marsh out back.  In the summer I hang my hammock under the shade of two towering trees.  I see turkey and deer amble by on occasion.  I can be at two of my favorite surf spots inside of 15 minutes, the ocean in five.  I have a dog and a cat, two guitars, a ukulele, and six surfboards.  And peace.  I have peace.  Funny, but after all those years of feeling rootless, there remains a sense of wanderlust inside me.  There are many places I would like to see, to experience.  Cities.  Countries. Surf spots.  America.  But I only want to visit, not live.   I have roots now.  Maine is my home.  My base of operations.  The place I will always return to.  Life, my life, is finally, the Way It Should Be...