26 Comments
Oct 4, 2021Liked by Elizabeth Marro

I love this reflection on home, something I often think about. I also love the music of your prose.

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Thank you, Sandell.

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Oct 11, 2021Liked by Elizabeth Marro

You are the best!

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Hard to read this piece. We so miss home. It is a garden in more ways than one . . .

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Home as a garden. That is something I'll be thinking about. Thank you, Tim.

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Well, I see those in the know call you ‘Betsy’, so I hope you will give me permission to join them but Elizabeth will do just as well. After your ‘like’ on substack, I have taken the liberty of searching you out and here I am reading you for the first time, in not the best of circumstances for you, but what you say has a resonance which can be heard and empathised with a continent away. Your chosen title says it all. I have a blog called mywembley.blogspot.com about where I grew up and lived the first 22 years of my life. Of those days, which ended 55 years ago, what remains is four friendships and we are now spread across England, me the link in the chain. How that happened I have yet to work out. I can see and hear your dad. I have sent a link your post to my half-sister Roz. Maybe you have prompted a substack podcast. Than you. Take care. Stay safe.

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Thank you, Robert! I look forward to checking out your blog. This has turned out to be a real connection point for so many of us.

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Hi Betsy, Thank you for this piece. It is truly beautiful in so many ways. I am so sorry. I know that you must miss your father so much. May you continue to find comfort in those beautiful memories.

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Thank you, Michelle.

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Hi Betsy, I loved this Spark piece. There's so much nostalgia here in this beautiful writing. One of the theme of my memoir was the questions: what is "home." At least I thought that was the theme for awhile. That word..."home" evokes such layered emotions and memories. Thank you for this.

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Hi again, Judy. I received your email with your short piece about how you thought of home at one time. I'm sorry it didn't upload for you but here it is so others can see and read your words, your lovely words. Here they are:

These days, there’s something about your Missouri roots that pulls at you.

Something deep and deeper yet that you can’t explain. That dark earth

where corn grows tall and green, where a girl can get lost in the fields. You

remember staking tomatoes and the way your daddy taught you the

intricacies of the square knot. How, one small hand over the other, you

learned—right over left and under/left over right. A litany you still say when

you tie back the bougainvillea vines, when you wrap a bow around a gift.

There’s no place better for growing peaches. Those boot-heels you can

buy at every farmer’s stand along the road. And cherries and cucumbers

and green beans long as your middle finger. Dusty daisies blooming

against green ditches and locusts in walnut trees, raising their song in a

choir of summer hunger.

You wonder why, after all these California years, the geography of home is

country highways and gravel roads and farms with ponds where cattle

stand ankle deep in mud. And how the girl who craved California is now the

woman who thinks porch swings and ice tea and long twilight evenings

when fireflies blink bright as memory. And when you listen for the cicada

song, you hear someone calling your name.

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Betsy, aren't you the generous one, typing this whole thing up when it wouldn't load. I actually meant for only to read it. But well, here it is. xoJudy

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Thank you, Judy.

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Oct 3, 2021Liked by Elizabeth Marro

Elizabeth, you need to be tired more often. This is a wonderful post! :)

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That's very kind of you, Tom. Thank you!

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I loved this post. And needed it today. We too lived and raised our daughter until she was 13 in MA and had a weekend home in NH near the White Mountains. When she was 13 we moved to Park City UT. It was like another planet. We are still here but she is in college in a lovely town called Golden, outside of Denver, Colorado. She definitely struggles with the concept of home. Utah was never home to her. We also spent a lot of time in PA as my husband’s family and some of my old friends live there. This week my MIL died from ALS at age 84. So we are all headed to PA for the funeral. It will be the first time our daughter has been there since 2012. I had been back recently with my husband to see his mom and I was floored with all the memories. I my anxious to see if our daughter feels the same connection. Of course she will be surrounded by family and friends, so she will feel that connection as well. Home has so many meanings. It transcends place and time.

I’m sorry about your father. It’s never easy to lose a parent.

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Janice, I'm sorry for your family's loss. It sounds as thought we've crossed some of the same territory over the years. I'm glad if you found something in my post that resonated. You are right: home has many meanings. I expect you and your daughter will find some new ones on this family trip. Peace and safe travels.

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Oct 2, 2021Liked by Elizabeth Marro

Gorgeous reflection on home. Loving the personal layers you share. Thank you, Betsy!

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Thank YOU, Mary Jean.

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Oct 2, 2021Liked by Elizabeth Marro

Beautiful and evocative imagery, Betsy. I’m so sorry for your loss, and grateful for your generosity in sharing this story. I also grew up on the east coast and migrated here in my 20s. I’ve never fully felt part of this place or that.

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Thank you, Johnathan. That's exactly the feeling I've struggled with over the years and particularly these past few weeks: never feeling fully part of this place or that. Or all the places I've got history with.

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Oct 2, 2021Liked by Elizabeth Marro

Great post, you touched on many familiar feelings of going home.

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Thank you, Roseann!

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Oct 2, 2021Liked by Elizabeth Marro

This post is so beautiful.

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this piece is beyond reflective in its unsparing glimpse of love and loss - hugs for your courage, Betsy.

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Thank you, PJ. That means a lot.

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