A Sense of Place ...

I realized this summer that much of my happiness is derived from my sense of place. That is not to dismiss or denigrate the importance of the people I spent time with. They gave me a sense of belonging to family that I miss now that I am back at the lake living alone with Kenya.

I spent a great deal of time on Atlantic beaches this summer. I love Atlantic beaches. I love the variety. I love the rocks. I love the ruggedness. I felt happy exploring those beaches, but I didn't feel at home on them.

Kerry and I took the children swimming at the old water source for the town of Wolfville. It was just like Pike Lake, small, calm, surrounded by woods, an oasis of peace. There I did feel at home.

When I visited Rob I canoed the Clyde in a fund raiser for cancer, and the river was a lot like Pike Lake too. I felt at home there too.

In the Muskokas the river was a green place where we swam and the dogs played happily chasing sticks. One day we went for a five hour kayak trip, just five women in five kayaks. I felt at peace. It was not Pike Lake but I felt at home there as the forest slipped by and the water flowed past my paddle.

Yesterday I awakened to a beautiful misty morning here at the lake and instead feeling at peace, I felt a sense of dread. I have not been sleeping well since coming home. I lie awake worrying about all the things I fear I may not be able to handle alone.

The lake has made me realize the importance of place; this nomadic summer made me realize the importance of family.

I left here in July knowing that I would never be happy as a nomad. I came home wondering whether I can ever be happy as a hermit again. Quel dilemme!