Home.

Is where I want to be. But I guess I’m already there.

When I hear this song, This Must Be the Place (Naive Melody), by the Talking Heads, tears come. Why? I know it is a love song, about human connection, but I always think of my house, my home, and how grateful I am to be here. It took a long time to find my little nest.

Growing up, our family never lived anywhere for more than three years. Moving across the continent, followed a few years later by a divorce, contributed to the feeling of impermanence. When I was younger I envied friends who grew up in a family home surrounded by multiple generations. I marvelled that adults could go “home” and sleep in their childhood beds. I now admire our unconventional family, and I love who we have evolved into, individually and as a unit.

I moved out on my own when I was seventeen. I worked at retail or hospitality jobs and rented a series of cheap and cheerful apartments, always sharing with friends or boyfriends. I was constantly saving money to travel, and when I did take off, usually for months at a time, I would quit my job and move out of my current pad, and when I returned start again. This semi transient lifestyle carried on when I started working seasonally on Vancouver Island. I worked six or seven months during the summer seasons and followed the sun south for the winters. I lived in basic staff housing while at work, and slept in cheap hotels in Mexico or Belize or wherever I wandered, or on a sofa or foamy in someone else’s house. For eight years I kept a few bits and pieces in a storage locker and lived out of totes and a backpack. I had few responsibilities and loads of freedom, it was a fun lifestyle. Until it wasn’t anymore.

In January of 2003 I was travelling overland through the Yucatan and Central America. I found my way to the beautiful Caribbean island of Roatan, Honduras and checked into the funky Chillie’s Guest House. The first person I met was Janette, we shared some beers on the deck. She told me that she and her partner Wayne lived in Port Alberni, and had a summer house at Sproat Lake. I was astounded! At the time I was working in Clayoquot Sound, on the west coast of Vancouver Island. I had driven countless times through the Alberni Valley and around the lake, always distracted by the views, the surrounding thickly forested hills reflected in the water. It was incredibly inviting, I just wanted to stop, and stay forever. I often wondered who was so lucky to live there. And there she was.

Janette, Wayne and I spent our days on Roatan lounging on the white sand beaches and snorkelling in the blue sea. On old man sat under a palm tree and sold beers out of a wheelbarrow filled with ice. One afternoon I sat waist deep in the warm calm water with Janette, beer in hand, and shared my feelings of homelessness, I told her I was ready to settle, find a place to make a nest for myself. Sproat Lake was already on my mind.

That spring I took a few days off from work and stayed with Wayne and Janette at their lake house. One rainy morning we took their dog for a walk and wandered through a neighbouring mobile home park. There, in the window of an ugly little house was a ‘for sale’ sign, at a price that even I could afford. It was empty, so we went up onto the hidden deck which was built around a huge cedar tree and overlooked the lake. When we got back to Janette’s house I made a phone call. On June 1st I took possession of my little shack.

My own place!! I was in heaven! The interior was beige, lots of wall to wall carpets, ugly light fixtures and hideous window treatments. But there were two bathrooms, (two! In my digs at work I often had to resort to an old yogurt bucket as a toilet and shared a manky communal shower), a big bright kitchen with sky lights, and a sunroom off the back overlooking countless trees and a peek a boo view of the sparkling lake. It wasn’t until I signed a lease and was given a beach key that I discovered the private sandy beach and swimming dock that the park residents had access to. I love the ocean and had spent much of the last 10 years living on it or near it, but growing up in Ontario, lakes had always been my happy place. This was the perfect lake. The water was crystal clear and perfect swimming temperature in the summer. We were in cottage county, surrounded by forest trails, rivers and waterfalls.

That summer I had little chance of settling in. I worked twenty to thirty days in a row, with a few days off in between. On my breaks I would rush home to luxuriate in my own space and newfound privacy. I spent the precious time I had sunning and swimming, listening to my music as loud as I wanted, or lying in my hammock listening to the birds and gazing up into the towering trees. Sometimes I cried when I had to leave. When my job ended for the season in October, the winter rains had set in and the valley and lake became shrouded in fog. As much as I loved my home, the warmth and the colours of Mexico called to me. For the next four years I continued to work and spend most of my summers at the resort, and travel in the winter. Some colourful throw rugs, wooden bookshelves, bamboo blinds, and treasures I had gathered in my travels made my house feel cozy, but I still treated it as a pit stop. However, more and more I was longing to be at the lake.

Finally, in the spring of 2007, I found the courage to walk away from a lucrative job that I loved, and stay home. The boyfriend moved in and started sawing and hammering and funkifizing the place. We got a cat. We cooked and painted and planted stuff and got to know the neighbours. When my EI ran out and I couldn’t find a place I wanted to work I started my own business in Port Alberni.

Finally I felt settled. It will be twenty years this June since I stumbled upon this perfect little spot. Over the years changes have happened. Expanded the business. Boyfriend died. Sold the business. Ripped up the carpet. Painted the kitchen red. Got a kayak. Made a garden. Made the best of friends. All the time just loving the feeling of coming home. Every time. My sanctuary.

I’m just an animal looking for a home But I guess I’m already there