The Look of Home

You see these pumpjacks all over East Texas, humping oil up from the earth.

After smooth flying and driving, we are finally “home” to the States–Texas for a bit before heading back to Indiana. Husband and I are nostalgic for Paris already, especially when we are eating out (“Look at the size of this table! Where are our cozy cafe spots?”). Liam still talks about one of his friends from his Paris nursery school, and I’m sure he is jonesing for those daily patisserie stops.

But we are home.

I remember, as a sixteen-year-old girl about to leave East Texas for the first time. I couldn’t imagine a more beautiful place than my Piney Woods, and yet I knew I needed to go. 

Now I’ve been blessed to have seen all kinds of beauty–mountains and East Coast forests, California’s lush bits, beautiful vistas in Paris, farmland in Normandy, Belfast’s skies. But there is something about the look of home, its smells. There is nothing beautiful about an oil derrick or pumpjack, but they are part of my childhood landscape. Living in this place with my own child returns me to my experiences as a little girl, and that’s its own kind of beauty.

For now, I’m avoiding comparisons to Paris and just living our re-discovered home one gentle look at a time.


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