111 - Home is Where Your Heart Is

Audio Transcript - May Vary Slightly from Vocal Recording.

Hi everyone, it’s Lindy here, and I’m absolutely delighted to be back in the podcast chair today.  Wow , what a week I had last week. It was a whirlwind, but so worth it in so many ways. 

Ok, I’ll start out by saying I missed my podcast last week, sorry about that folks, and it was a bit of a weird feeling for me.  It’s funny because I am a hobby podcaster, no one is going to fire me if I don’t produce an episode, yet I still found myself feeling a bit unsettled as I closed the zipper on my travel bag and headed to the airport.  I had so many things I was dealing with, time was not on my side, and my ticket to go see my grandchildren was booked.  I am learning to ride the waves of life and trying to get rid of that feeling that things must be done just right all the time.  Sometimes you just have to say “oh well” and carry on. 

Yesterday I woke up to the sound of children’s voices.  Yes, the sounds of a 2-year-old negotiating the day with a 4-year-old, and a gentle mother offering guidance while nurturing the social development of two pre-schoolers.  I am used to waking up to the sound of the furnace running and Ozzie the Studio Hound wanting to go out, so this was a treat. 

Have you ever felt homesick?  Homesick is a feeling of longing for people and a place you have left behind.  For some people, it’s just a “little bit” homesick, yet for others it can be devastating with a feeling of loss causing anxiety and stress.  I have had both in my lifetime, and I must say the “little bit” homesick is much easier to handle.  

 Have you ever gone on a vacation, and towards the end of the trip thought to yourself that as much as you wanted that trip to continue, you were looking forward to sleeping in your own bed? Perhaps you moved away from a place you lived for many years, and in the process of adjustment, you realized how much you missed your former home, the people and the routine of your former life.  Are you someone who moves frequently, or have you lived in the same town or city for a number of years?  I lived in the same place for 44 years before I moved, and it wasn’t until I experienced what it was like to start a new life in a new place that I could truly understand the impact to children of military and RCMP families who routinely moved, set up home, made friends and within a few years were relocating again. It certainly is an experience that contributes to resiliency.  

When I was growing up, many of my friends had been part of my life since kindergarten.  I had a friend who moved to Juneau, Alaska and in 7th grade my mom allowed me to travel by myself, on the plane, to a different country to visit the friend I had become so bonded with.  Her father met me at customs, and my visit to see her likely helped her transition to her new home, so she didn’t totally lose touch with the friends she had left behind.  Yup – that was on Wein Air Alaska -  I wonder if anyone listening to this will remember that airline.  

I feel homesick almost every day, and I my latest trip to the Yukon really solidified the knowledge that my heart is truly in two places. 

I left the Yukon almost 14 years ago to move to the beautiful Comox Valley on Vancouver Island.  I was 44 years old at the time, and I had never lived any place other than Whitehorse, Yukon.  It was scary and exciting at the same time.  I was not a big city driver, I had always been near my family, and I was leaving behind a good job, lifetime friends and memories.  I had so many good memories from my time in the north, but I also had sad memories and perhaps it was my desire to be emotionally healthy that helped formulate the plan for a change. 

I remember how excited I was when I arrived in the Comox Valley.  The weather was still warm, even though it was early September.  Where I grew up, we often had frost by the end of August.  The ocean was like a new playground for me, as I grew up near fresh water, not salt water. I also felt really strange when I walked into restaurants, because I didn’t know anyone.  Back in the Yukon, I could hardly get through Aisle 1 in the grocery store without running into someone I knew, exchanging pleasantries and sometimes chatting so long that the ice cream in the cart was melting. It took only a few years in my new home before I could find myself in a similar situation.   

This past week I flew back to the Yukon so I could spend a little time with family.  I love my family, and as much as we stay connected through technology, there is nothing like the chance to hug in person.   When I was younger, in the good old days when CP Air and Pacific Western Airlines served the north, if I travelled anywhere, I could pretty much guarantee I would know the ticket agents, the airline cargo staff, and when I sat in the airport terminal building I would know half the people in the waiting room.  It’s not like that anymore.  The last time I flew back home I didn’t know a soul.  This time I knew 3 people on the flight, and I am managed to reconnect with all three of them during that time.  I have to say that Marj’s smile will light up any room, and I felt like I was home the moment I saw her. 

Yesterday was a beautiful, beautiful day outside.  It had snowed the previous two days. Now the sky was blue, the sun was shining on my back and the clean, crisp Yukon air awakened my senses with a reminder that this land North of 60 is truly my home. I walked beside the Yukon River with my daughter, pushing a stroller through the snow.  I could hear the crackling sound of the ice as it was breaking up on the river, small pools of water emerging between layers of thick blue ice. Memories of days cross-country skiing along the Chadburn Lake trails and Miles Canyon area filled my mind.  Development of new paved walking trails did not take away the memories of the old White Pass Train, hauling passengers and ore, rumbling along the waterfront tracks.  I gazed at a spot in the river where my friend Marilyn and I had dipped our toes in summer months, almost a bit too deep for our own safety.  We were just kids back then, finding our way. I gazed across the river, and focused on the road on the side of the hill behind the hospital. The Long Lake Road was a place we rode our banana bikes in the summer with picnic bags on our backs, headed to a little lake that was a great place to swim and canoe.  Nowadays you would never let your kids do that.  Not safe.  Times have changed. I am so lucky to hold those memories, and as much as it was over 40 years ago, it almost seems like yesterday.  

I stared at the old Horwood's Mall on Main Street as we walked by, and memories of the old T&D’s Grocery store came back.  I thought about the times my mom had us walk to the grocery store in cold winter temps, we picked out our groceries and walked back home.  A delivery service would bring our groceries to our house after lunch, because we had no car. There was an old cargo style elevator in that building with open cage doors, and I remember riding in it.  I think it is covered up and out of service now.   

As we headed down the waterfront trail, I passed the old White Pass Train Station building.  That historical building used to have the biggest old black banker’s safe in it.  It was huge. I worked in that building when I worked for the Tourism Industry Association and my office was in the top right corner.  I love that building.  It’s such an amazing piece of history and imagine of the walls of that old train station could talk.  

Throughout the day I found myself so full of nostalgic thoughts, flooded by memories of growing up in this beautiful area. 

On the last day of my short visit I took a drive downtown to pick up a pizza. I wanted to treat my daughter’s family to dinner.  While on the way there, I just had to take a drive by my old childhood home.  It felt so strange. The street I had walked with my friends seemed so short, yet I thought it seemed much longer when I was growing up.  I guess when you walk home from school in 40 below at the age of 6 it does seem long, but when you are 57 years old driving the same route in a car, it’s pretty short.  I felt a wave of peace when I saw many of the old neighborhood houses still standing.  Some were well kept, others looked like the paint had never been touched and were now rather faded out.  Houses that existed at the top of our street were no longer there, and a big monstrosity house overshadowed the little home I was raised in.   

I stared at my old house.  The greenhouse we once played in had been moved from the backyard to the front yard, overpowering the garden that was once full of blooms and blossoms.  The same white picket fence was along the front, but it seemed so small compared to the fence I remembered climbing on as a kid. Some of my old neighborhood friends have moved away, and others have now departed this word. I’m in that age group, and it is a feeling of loss when you revisit an area and know that old friends have passed on. 

I drove past the apartments where my friend Chris stayed with his grandma. We are still friends on Facebook, over 45 years later. His grandfather gave my sister her accordion, which she still has today.   Finally, I drove past my old elementary school, and the home of my previous babysitter.  I thought of my mom, and how many times she walked that street after catching a ride to work in cold winter months so she could put food on the table for her four daughters at home. 

 I was so grateful I had been able to see 2 of my sisters on this visit, but I missed seeing the other sister and deep down inside wished I could have them all with me so we could go climb the hill behind our old house one more time.   I smiled on the inside thinking about it, because I wasn’t sure which one of us would be the slowest at this point. I have visions of one of us holding a hip, one holding a knee and all of us pushing each other up the hill from behind, pushing on butts and laughing.    

I didn’t want to drive away from my old street on my last day.  I wanted to just go find a spot to sit under the hill, to close my eyes, relive the happy memories and hope that if I opened them, I might see an old neighborhood friend.  I realized how many people who lived in that neighborhood had touched my life, and I might never have that chance to see them again. I’m getting older. 

I picked up the pizza, and took the south access route out of town. This route takes you along the Yukon River, by the hydro dam and up to the highway.  I passed the SS Klondike, a retired stern wheeler that once plied that waters of the Yukon River.  I came in as a runner-up in a national essay contest in 7th grade, and I had done so much research on this amazing vessels that once transported families and miners.  I love that boat.  Nearby I could see where a rockslide had brought down part of the escarpment onto the old train tracks.   

Driving up the south access, I peered over at the runway entrance and thought about young man who lost his life landing an ultralight at the airport many decades ago.  That was a sad time for his wife and family, and I can relate.  

As I left the downtown core, I could see historical portions of the city I once knew and was shocked at the new buildings and development that had brought tall buildings with modern flair to an area I wanted to just keep as is.  Change can be hard for some of us older dogs.  We understand progression and the need for new development, but sometimes it’s just not easy to digest.  

With the pizza in the car, headed back to my daughter’s, the water works started again. I realized how homesick I was.  This was my hometown.  My heart was still here, more than I imagined. I wondered what it would be like if I were to move back.  Would I fit in?  How would I handle the longer winters?  Would it feel like old times?   Then I thought about my other home, the place where I now live.  The home I share with my partner and my dog, the walking trails I travel with my son.  Oh boy, add another layer of water works.  My heart is in two places, and I can’t change that.  I thought about loss, and the place on Grey Mountain where many of my loved ones have come for a final rest. I thought about all my friends and people who have touched my life, and how they too will always hold another spot in my heart. I thought about the man on the island who would be there to greet me with open arms when this trip is over.  

I pulled into the yard at my daughter’s and wiped the runny mascara from under my eyes.  One last peek in the rear-view mirror, and that was that. Time to move forward. No. More looking back.  I carried the pizza in the house and went back outside to look for stroller marks in the snow to guide me to the loved ones I had come to visit. 

Homesick is not easy.  It’s a happy pain and a sad pain at the same time.  I miss the feel of northern living, the mist coming off the river in the winter, the down home come-as-you-are no frills needed lifestyle, but most of all I miss the people I left behind.  I truly do.  

Yet, at the end of the day, I have no regrets.  I have done so many things on Vancouver Island that I might not have done had I stayed where I did.  I learned to drive in a bigger city.  I got my motorcycle licence at the age of 52.  I became a podcaster. I snorkelled in the ocean and saw crabs swimming beside me.   I was greeted in my new home with fun, new memories, good times, sad times and more good times.  

As I headed to the airport to catch my flight back to my island home, I noticed how filthy the car was from the springtime slush and mud.  The grunge of rocks and mud that annoyed me 14 years ago no longer bothered me. Strangely, I welcomed it. Instead of focusing on what I didn’t care for, I looked at the whole picture. It’s amazing when we do that how the kaleidoscope of life is viewed through a different lens. All places have positives, and all places have issues.  It’s because all places have people. Sometimes we don’t appreciate all we have until we don’t have it.  Yes, even the mud and slush on a warm spring day. 

Will I ever move back?  I don’t know, you can never say never.  It wouldn’t bring back the people who are no longer there, and it would likely not recreate the memories that are so near and dear to my heart.   

If I learned anything from this recent trip back home, is that home is where your heart is. When I meet new people who have just moved into my area, I will try to be aware of what it feels like to be homesick. There’s something to be said for an invitation to join a big family at a holiday dinner.  If someone I visit needs to talk about where they used to live, I will listen with open ears because it’s likely that person just needs to share those stories and bring a piece of the past to present.  As I mentioned before, home is where your heart is, and my heart is in two places.  So I have two homes. I am an island girl who will forever be a Klondiker at heart. 

As I wrap up today’s episode, I’d like to thank you for taking the time to listen to my podcast. I am a hobby podcaster, and my goal is to share a bit of creativity while providing positive and thought-provoking entertainment.  I’d like to thank all of my friends who have become my island family, as well as my family members who have always loved and supported me from close and far.  Oh yes, and that includes my northern friends too. If you know anyone who has recently moved to your area, if it feels safe to do so, please be sure to reach out with a bit of welcoming kindness. It can sure go a long way. 

If you enjoyed this episode, please be sure to click the Like button, and a positive review is always welcome.  I had a new positive review through Spotify last week, and  yeah, it really made my day.  My podcast is available on multiple podcast apps, and you can always find previous episodes at www.lindysaudiocafe.com.  I also have a group page on Facebook for Lindy’s Audio Café Podcast, and you can join this group to stay on top of future episodes. If you would like to support the show, you can find a link to Buy Me a Coffee in the show notes. It is not at all expected but always appreciated.