I never seem to be as inspired or as at peace working if I don't have a good window view into the outside world. When hubby and I were house-hunting during the winter of 2012-2013, this was in the forefront of my mind after seeing dozens of houses and finding in each one that there was something missing.
That crazy, indefinable something kept persuing me - back and forth between two states, across the mighty Mississippi and back again, leaving me in a quandry. Until one blustery and bittercold afternoon, my hubby calls me from the hotel he was staying at while working in the area that was soon to become home for the two of us. He tells me in a hushed voice that the house he had just viewed had a backyard like a park and that I would fall in love with the views from the huge windows. At this point, I'm intrigued by the catch I hear in his voice.
Up until that moment, I couldn't imagine living in any of the places we viewed - I felt like we had seen it all. A house with a toilet in the middle of the basement - nothing else, just a toilet. Apparently that was the 2nd bathroom, according to the realtor. Not for me, though.
Then there was the house with a basement that looked like it pulled inspiration from a 1960's casino, complete with mirrored bar, bar pulls, wood panelling, and red and black carpeting reminiscent of a deck of cards. Yes, we saw so much in our travels, evaluating the places that people called home and wondering if we would find that elusive place for us, too.
A few weeks later, when the bout of bronchitis finally let up so I could travel and the weather cooperated (if only briefly), he took me to this house in a town I'd never seen. After looking out the floor to ceiling windows in the family room, I knew I was home. The view of the quintessential backyard with an 80 foot oak tree and a generous sized deck with room for family and friends, bordered by an empty lot and a ravine that cuts dramatically away from the sloping land into a sharp drop, filled with aspen and birch trees and more wildlife that I'd seen in more than a decade. There are deer that come to graze, black squirrels, gray squirrels, bunnies galore that frolic all the day long, and the occasional muskrat, groundhog, and beaver meandering through.
In those few minutes, I saw the seasons change -fading from late winter to a bright and lush spring, a summer with fat bumblebees buzzing and birds chittering and chirping, I could almost smell the first bite of winter in the air with the trees in full color for a rich and vibrant autumn. In that one moment, I could see the ground blanketed with mounds of snow and the twinkling of lights for Christmas.
It's an oasis, often quiet and still, the only movement coming from the winds whistling through the trees, stirring their leaves, and giving an endless look into the landscape, unfettered by human hands and allowed to be a little wild around the edges. It's a quiet type of beauty, something that draws you in moment by moment, bringing to life that which I never realized I had lost, that one thing people rush to when they realize it has slowly escaped from their lives - tranquility.
