Thoughts from my sister in Germany about the meaning and creation of home–something I find myself yearning ever more strongly for. Not just the old farmhouse and the mountains and the Bohemian Garret, but a place of my own, that is uniquely mine, that has tamed me. I love the city where I go to school, but it’s never been like home–college is too impermanent a thing for me to put down any real roots or make any lasting ties, social coward that I am. But I’m ready now for a place of my own.
Locus Amoenus, Latin: the lovely or pleasing place. A common trope in Ancient Roman literature, usually a garden or woodland–a spot of inherent safety, comfort, and striking beauty. The concept features in works by authors as early as Homer, and it was reveled in by the later pastoral poets before being passed on to the writers of the Middle Ages and the Renaissance. Locus amoenus is a place to retreat to, often with overtones of Elysium on earth.
Grand View Farm, Vermont
December 7, 2015 I’ve always had a very strong connection to home. Even as a small child, I had an intense awareness of what constituted my people, my land, my place: this is where I came from and where I may leave, but also to where I will always return. Then, as now, I was drawn as much to the physicality of home as to the people who make it up–to the
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