I’ve been searching for a place to belong to for as long as I can remember. As a half American and half Australian woman who spent part of childhood in my ancestral Britain, home is a concept more than my reality. Belonging to a place, knowing where you come from and getting to call that place home, is comforting and secure. But it is a luxury I’ve never known.
Even when my parents finally bought a house and “settled down” I knew this home wouldn’t be my forever home. My parents had a strong case of wanderlust. There’s nothing wrong with that. In fact it helped shape my perspective. But unlike them and their desire to flit from place to place and see as much of the world as they wanted, I have only ever yearned to put down roots and know a place so well that it’s an inextricable part of my identity.
I thought I found that place when I was a small child and we moved to our ancestral Britain, to a seaside town. The sea has always felt like home to me. Something about the sound of the waves, the seagull’s piercing cry, the scent of salt just speaks to my soul in a mysterious and intimate way. Perhaps it’s because I took my very first steps on a beach in the Bahamas. I found my legs beside the sea. It’s always called to me. I think I understand the language of the sea more than human words at times.
When I was seven and still living in England, we visited my grandfather’s birth place in Scotland. When I opened up a telephone directory and saw page after page of “Gemmell” when everywhere else it was unlikely that I’d see even one Gemmell listed, I thought “this must be home.” But that place faded away into obscurity. It was only a short visit after all and I have never returned.
Yet Dorset and Hampshire in England continued to feel like my place. Especially when we visited the New Forest, I felt the spirits of the land whisper to me. “We welcome you. You belong here,” they said.
Though I felt rooted to my home in England, my mother (at that time) did not. She missed her family terribly. And so, my dad and I (the only two of us in our family who dearly loved England back then) tucked this place into our hearts and with a sigh of resignation returned to the states.
I’ve been trying to return to my soul’s home ever since. At one point my family did move back to England. And this time, they actually moved to the New Forest. They even bought a house. It seemed they were finally settling down. My heart was happy. That sense of security that is found in growing up in one house was finally within my grasp.
Sometimes the trickster god is cruel. After attending college at Bournemouth and Poole College, I couldn’t stay in England due to visa issues, even though my immediate family had permanent visas. So unfair!
I used to visit anyway, as often as possible, and would always think “I’m going home to visit my family.” It was a beautiful feeling!
During that time following college, I ended up in New York State. It was a difficult time at first. I was struggling a lot at the time. My dad ended up with terminal cancer. And even before that, something horrible happened and I’m still recovering from trauma as a result. It took me many years to unfreeze and become active in my life’s story rather than just being pushed along by some greater force outside myself.
But one good thing from that time is I connected with a beautiful man who became my partner for a time. To be fair, he rescued me in a way. I was barely functioning as a result of trauma. He’s a natural healer and a fellow witch. His care and attention helped me to begin the long journey back to myself after being shattered. I like to think he was a gift from a spirit guide, a supportive partner at a time when I desperately needed to be supported and guided.
My partner and I lived in upstate New York together before moving to a commune in Kentucky, in a forest. It was winter and most of the people were seasonal dwellers, absent during winter season. It was quiet. It was strange and unsettling. It was still a beautiful, soulful place, and I’m glad I lived there however briefly. One of my favorite memories is climbing to the very top of the mountain with him and looking out at this vast tapestry of forest for as far as our eyes could see.
The experience at the commune wasn’t what he remembered or longed for (and I was just going with the flow), so we tried our luck out west. We lived in San Francisco (oh to be by the sea again! This is home, I thought) until my dad’s cancer got worse and we decided to part ways for awhile. Soon, I had to return to England to be with my family.
Returning to England did feel like returning home. And how unfair that the one place that is home is the place where I have trouble immigrating to.
My visit home was shorter than I anticipated as my dad’s health improved and I couldn’t stay longer than six months because of the inability to get a permanent visa even though my family was permanently settled in England.
After England, I joined my partner/friend back in New York State, right where we started. Full circle.
This period of my life is all such a blur to me now. There was a good ten years in which I had no idea what I was doing with my life. I just let the currents carry me away. For someone who so desperately wanted stability, wanted to be rooted to a place, I spent a lot of time flitting here and there just as my parents had done, except perhaps more so. I had no clear direction. No purpose other than a vague sense of wanting to be in England. It was the how that always eluded me.
In 2010 I received word that my dad was dying. My partner and I had already transitioned our relationship from a romantic partnership to one of a deeply spiritual friendship. He’s still one of my favorite people in the world and I’m forever grateful for all the experiences we had together. He helped me pack up everything, find a temporary home for my cat, and I was suddenly back in England. To this day, this was my last visit home as my mother and brother ended up moving back to the states eventually and I just haven’t made it back for one reason or another.
My dad died two days after I arrived. He died a UK citizen, a professor, a member of the Royal Society of Medicine in London, a man beloved by all who knew him. His ashes are scattered in the New Forest, in a specific, magical place that was important to every person in my family for various reasons.
The next six months, in retrospect, were a kind of rebirth period of my life. Someone very dear to me made me feel so loved and supported. He helped me to find my way back to myself. We created nature art together, walked in the forest (sometimes for hours at a time), went to the sea (I still have the shell he gave me, blessed with his loving healing energy), passed books back and forth, and were just present in nature - loving the land.
I think it was only after my dad died, in those six months of grieving and healing, that I realized home isn’t a place after all, but a feeling you carry inside you. That feeling of being somewhere with the people I love, of feeling safe and supported, of hearing my dad’s infectious laugh, of sensing the magic of a place, of being secure in one’s identity, of loving and being loved.
I returned to upstate New York, where I have lived ever since. My son was born in a cabin here. This has been the only home he’s ever known. Eleven years of living in the same place (not the same house as I’ve lived in two different dwellings here on this land, but the same address at any rate). It’s the longest I’ve ever lived in one place. I’m getting to know this land, it’s innermost thoughts and secrets. The gifts the land gives me are ones I treasure. And I love giving back to the land however I can. Sometimes it’s as simple as making sure there’s always water for the birds. Sometimes it’s pulling invasive weeds away from the native plants so they may thrive. Sometimes it’s caring for injured or homeless fledgling birds until they are strong enough to fly away.
I’m hesitant to say I’ve put down roots here as I know this place will not be my forever home. My son is getting older. I’m feeling ready to move on. Those wings I hid away for years are starting to unfurl. At least now I know I have the ability to stay in place. To live somewhere long enough that it becomes home. And now I know that I carry home within me. Home is in my memories. It’s in my ability to astral travel to my spirit places. It’s in my dreams. In my desires. In my connection with nature. It’s a feeling more than any one physical location.
Thank you for reading my rambling musings. In case you stumbled upon my writing by chance and haven’t been following me on social media, my name is Caitlin Gemmell and I’m a writer, poet, and witch living atop a hill in the countryside of upstate New York. My forthcoming poetry book, True North is available to preorder right here.
It releases on September 22, 2022. The following is an excerpt of one of my poems in True North.
Best wishes,
Caitlin 🥀
Dear Caitlin,
This was a beautiful read and I feel privileged to know a little more of your life story. Although I have been rooted in one place all my life, I could feel my heart longing right alongside yours because that sense of home is so precious. And I completely agree that 'home' can be people as well as places. I felt completely unmoored for weeks after my bf moved away for work, but I also know to count my blessings because I have a wonderful sister who I see everyday and feel at home with.
When I was younger I used to envy those with the means to travel. I felt I was missing out and somehow incomplete for not having those experiences, but now I am grateful for this 'rooted' feeling that others may not have the fortune to experience.
I am certain that you will find your way to your forever home, and that you'll have many happy years and memories there once you arrive xx