Following the 14 mile ambulation of Kent County, I returned to the Folly drenched from head to toe in my own sauce. It was not terribly hot, but it was a wet heat. Passing through a secret passage, I cooled off in the shower while, unbenownced to me, a feast of protien and carbohydrates was being developed downstairs. Climbing down the twisting stairs, I came into the log kitchen to find coffee, eggs, bagels, and such on the table. A glass storm door allowed views into the kitchen garden, just to the right of the babies.
Sharing a meal is, of course, a wonderful communal act. Since I am more of a morning person, sharing breakfast suits me better than sharing dinner. Not that I am opposed to the latter, I just am not as good at it. So sitting at a farm table (especially one thoughtfully wrapped in plastic for my protection) eating the produce of the land and catching up with people I had not seen for several years, if ever before, felt just like being at home.
Except at home I have the bad habit of looking at everything that needs to be done and feeling bad about not doing it. Things that I would either not notice or not judge about another’s home make me crazy in my own. Days off from work can at times feel like a challenge to get things done at home. Fortunately, I have gotten far enough to realize that a day off from work is not an opportunity to catch up on work. There does, however, need to be a sabbath at home.
Now that we have returned to Altamont, I do feel a bit of post-vacation let down. But I am also glad to be with the people I know. I see people in the lane, or in shops, or at tea. The comfort of routine has not completely returned since Petula has some sort of nasty illness. What if I were to treat the people I do know as well as I have tried to treat the people I don’t know?