In Defense of the Homebody

by Chris Savage
July 1, 2008

I'm a homebody. I admit it. It's not that I never travel. I do. For work. For fun. Domestically. Internationally. And it's not that I think other people shouldn't travel. In fact, I think people SHOULD travel. I'd go so far as to say that most of the social problems in this country could be, in a large way, resolved if people traveled more. Simply put, opening your mental horizons is a Good Thing.

But I love to stay home. Not in my house, necessarily, but in my yard, my village, my community.

I suppose there are plenty of people that would consider the lifestyle my wife and I live to be somewhat sparse. We don't own engine-powered toys. No motorcycles or ORVs or jet skis or power boats. We don't have a summer cottage or time-share to go to on the weekends. We don't take annual cruises or gambling trips to Las Vegas.

Despite all of this, our days are full and rich. We have adventures and we explore new things and new places, all without really needing to travel very far.

As the new year begins, the world around us is mostly asleep, buried in ice and snow, biding its time for the warmth of spring to waken it. We take hikes and go skiing through the forests near our house, enjoying the hushed tones and stark openness that winter brings to the woodlands. Back at home, it is the season of fresh-baked bread, hot soups, reading, writing and Sudoku challenges in front of a crackling fireplace.

The weather slowly starts to warm and our ski boots are swapped for hiking boots as the melting snow turns the trails to mud. This is a subtle time of the year. Although the forest is still brown and bare, if you look a bit closer, you begin to see signs of life appearing. Small red or green nubs start to sprout on tree branches. Tiny shoots emerge from the muddy soil, pushing their way through last autumn's leaf drop. In our basement, the grow lights are plugged in, vegetable seeds are planted and plans for the garden are made.

As spring progresses, the forest truly begins to come alive. Our twice-weekly hikes reveal new details each time. The spring ephemeral flowers - glorious Trillium, nodding Trout Lilies, shy May Apples and alien-looking Jack-in-the-Pulpit seem to grow right before your eyes. One day they aren't there and the next day, it seems, they're in full bloom. They're moving fast because the trees above them aren't far behind and soon the dense foliage of the maples and beeches and sycamores will shade the forest floor. While the spring wildflowers are painting the ground with color, newly-emerging leaves and buds on the trees color the space above.

Back in the yard, hoop houses go up in the garden and lettuce, spinach, Swiss chard and radishes are planted in them. Peas are planted along the fence line. Early flowers start to make their appearances. Crocus and daffodils and tulips blaze a path for the columbines and astilbes and the myriad other flowers that will soon follow.

Spring transitions to summer and our days are full of gardening and clearing away the detritus left behind by winter. The grill is brought out of its winter storage spot in the garage, the screen house on the deck is put up and house plants are moved outside. As the world around moves from the gray of winter to the brown of spring to the lush green of summer, we spend hours sitting outside drinking coffee and cocktails, eating meals and watching birds build nests in our trees and roof lines, listening to their music and ours.

Soon enough the forests are reclaimed by the biting insects and we move to pedaling our bicycles and paddling our kayaks. On the lakes and rivers, sandhill cranes, geese, and swan begin building giant nests and laying eggs. In our garden, tiny seedlings nursed from paper pots begin to blossom and bear fruit. Every day we discover some new development there. Scrapes appear on the garlic. Tiny green fruits begin to appear on the tomato and pepper plants. Bountiful salads full of crisp fresh lettuce and peas and radishes become part of our daily diet. Soon we're picking cherries from the orchard, blueberries from the farm and wild berries from the forest.

This is the time of summer festivals and concerts, outdoor eating, and trips to the beach.

As summer slowly begins to wind down, harvest time ramps up. Garlic is dried and hung up in the basement. Tomatoes and fruits go into canning jars. Peppers are stuffed and frozen or dried or smoked. Eggplants are roasted or baked and frozen. Lots of hard work now means a winter and spring of garden-grown foods.

The weather begins to cool and soon the forests are again free from biting flies and mosquitoes allowing us to spend hours walking along the pathways. There are road trips to see the fall colors, trips to the cider mill and apple-picking. Floating down the river at this time of year is a riot of oranges and reds and browns and greens as autumn transforms summer's green leaves.

Finally winter returns, reclaiming the landscape, putting the earth to sleep, and completing the cycle. Although we've not traveled much over the past year, we've gone far and seen a lot. Far from being bored with this life, each day we find ourselves going to bed exhausted, fulfilled, and satisfied. Being a homebody can be hard work!

With rising gas prices and a push to lower our "carbon footprint," there is more talk these days of "Staycations" where people vacation close to home and explore their immediate area more fully. I must confess I've already been doing this for quite some time. As a confirmed homebody, it just comes naturally. And it's not boring or confining; you find there's far more to do and see and discover in your backyard than you might have imagined.

And now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go tie up some tomatoes and then go for a bike ride. I have a full day ahead of me.