Hello BC! It’s good to be back. I’ve been all over the highway from here to Nova Scotia and I didn’t know I missed home until I walked in the door.

The house was too hot, as it always is in August. It was dusk and the cat appeared on the edge of it – a small white question mark – when she heard me roll in. I had my arms full of books and my legs were uncramping and the laminate flooring in the entry was warm and clean and the room was spacious and did not smell like my car. It was glorious. The dogs were besides themselves when I went out back to see them (but they always are). By the time my sisters came home from work, it was dark and the living room was just glowing with being properly lived in.

There are a lot of wonderful strangers in this country – a saleswoman at Atmosphere in Thunder Bay, the congregation of Ottawa’s Canadian Reformed Church, the custodians of the Friends of the Library bookstore in Sault Ste Marie, a family of French hikers in Cape Breton, to name a few – but in spite of them something like loneliness creeps up on you after three weeks of rest stops and gas stations. Maybe it’s the absence of rhythm, or the feeling that your own rhythm is out of sync with the rhythms of the communities you pass through. That’s not to say the trip wasn’t a success. In some ways it was exhilarating. (I’ll be posting little word-pictures of the exhilarating or otherwise noteworthy events in the near future.) Anyway, there was something about coming home that reminded me about the importance of routine, or rhythm, or fellowship.  And the blessing of having a home and family to return to.

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