Hiraeth (hi-raeth)

Hiraeth: (n) Welsh - A deep, wistful, nostalgic sense of longing for a home; a home that is no longer or perhaps never was. A yearning and wistful grief for people and things long gone.

Hiraeth... this Welsh word, for some odd reason has stuck with me for quite some time. It has been saved on my phone, and on my laptop countless times.  I think it reminds me of the portuguese word Saudade. The first time I came across this word  and read it´s meaning, it stopped me in my tracks...I instantly thought of  my maternal grandparents house, here in the Azores.  It's the place I am most nostalgic about and find myself missing. From as early as the age of one, it´s where all of my childhood vacations took place, where I met my grandfather and grandmother, aunts, uncles, and cousins who instantly became childhood friends.  A magical little house by the sea, where I was fortunate enough to spend Christmas, Easter, and summers more than once. There were trips we spent as long as four months at a time, arriving shortly before Christmas, and leaving shortly after Easter. Now when you are six, those days and months just turn into an endless adventure, and the little house , doesn't seem little at all, it just feels perfect! Oh and it was perfect, I could take you on a tour, room by room, corner by corner, I close my eyes and I can see it all. From the brown front gate, to its wonderful front patio, with its corner nook with a bench, overlooking the ocean. Off the patio, into the glorious sunroom, with its mosaic floor, and wrap around windows. There were three things I always loved about the sunroom, two wonderful crickety wicker chairs, I always believed that at mealtime, if you could sit in one of those chairs, you were the bees knees! They were so big, you could cross your legs in them, and under the table no one would be the wiser! I always loved the black two door china hutch, and all the treasures it held inside. I remember looking through the little glass doors, at the velvet lined shelves, to see the decanters, the dishes, and the most beautiful teacups, hanging on little hooks, pink on the outside, and on the inside pure white. The other thing, was my grandmother's African violets, the warm sun filled room, the perfect place for them. Rows of tiny glass shelves hung on the wall, with lots of pink and purple violets. Till this day it's the flower the most reminds me of her, that and her dahlias. Her garden was full of flowers, and in the sunroom, on the table, there was always a vase of flowers on top of a crisp white towel or crochet doily. Now off of the sunroom was a door to the bathroom, and two french doors to the kitchen. The bathroom had a tiny white cupboard, with a cubby hole with shelves, where you could find my grandfather's razor and shaving brush, my grandmother's blush and eye pencil, and amidst all the toiletries a bottle of Vanderbilt perfume belonging to my aunt. I always thought it would be the perfect place for a doll house, on the side of the cupboard, there was a door and shelves, all lined with pretty paper. This.... this is where I would have chosen to play with my barbies, afterall it was already wallpapered for them. Through the french doors, the kitchen, with its tall tongue and groove ceiling and a secret passage into the attic, a large wooden bolted door into the garden, and a smaller latch door leading to the bedrooms. The most important thing in this kitchen, at that time, the brick oven, and its hearth covered in curtains. I think my love for all that is traditional cooking, comes from watching my grandmother bake and cook using the oven, bread, massa sovada, cookies, alcatra, all perfectly timed to use all of the ovens heat. At the age of six, I think you are just drawn to the smells of warm bread, and the wonder of a roaring fire in the kitchen, at forty three, the smells still draw me in, but I am fully aware of how much work is involved in using the brick oven now. The kitchen wasn't very big, but had all that was needed to prepare all the non stop meals and snacks needed to keep our bellies full. I have often wonder how my grandparents prepared for our trips and the lengthy visits. They were not only feeding the six of us, but everyone who stopped in on a daily basis to see us, my uncles, my aunts, my cousins. The table in the sunroom, was made to accomadate  all of us, by having two sleeves that pulled out to make the table longer, you added more chairs and of course the wicker chairs, and everyone now had a seat. Shall we continue the tour, through the kitchen latch door, to the bedrooms, it changed through the years, but there was my grandparents room, my aunts room, when my uncle was single his room, and the little sitting room that was always turned into a bedroom, with two beds, so that my siblings and I could sleep in. On one of our earliest trips, the mattress that we slept on was made of ticking fabric and stuffed with corn husks, it ruslted when you moved around, and when you finally settled in, you slowly sank into the husks, almost like sleeping in a cozy little birds nest. There used to be a little hallway, that led to the front door of the house, once you were outside, you were back onto the front patio that wrapped around the whole house. One side had stairs, the other side, a narrow passage, the glass windows of the sunroom, that took you to the backyard and my grandmother's garden. When everything was in full bloom the little pathways were like tunnels in a secret garden, full of hollyhocks, lillies, asters, gladiolus, roses, and I have always sworn there was a Camellia tree, but if I am wrong, I am sure my older cousin will correct me. In this backyard we played endless games of tag and hide and seek with our cousins and the Lord only knows how many laps we ran around the whole house, up and down the stairs and through the tiny passage. That´s how we occupied our days, always inventing something, or smuggling something out of my grandmother's kitchen for the next big adventure. These trips, and all these vivid memories stayed with me,they are a part of who I am, and my mother will swear, the reason I moved to the island is because of all the trips we took. Truth be told, I did move and marry to the island, and started my own family with Mr.G. Long after my grandfather and aunt passed, my grandmother still stayed in her little house by the sea, and my own children were lucky enough to visit with her, and make their own memories. All three of them still remember my grandmother's cookie tin, the ever present calendar behind the door, and  the delicate porcelain doll in the sitting room. Funny how I never realized how much I missed everything, well not untill I stopped going to my grandparent's house. Not because the house didn´t exist anymore, but because after my grandmother passed away, the house was closed up. No one lived there anymore, the curtains were stolen, the shutters were closed, and the garden grew over. The house just sat quietly by the seaside, as it always had, and life went on as it does, with its growing up, some growing apart, marriages,  babies,  deaths, another Christmas,  another Easter, another season. I think close to four years went by and I hadn't set foot in my grandparent's home, that is, until this past summer. Somewhere in the middle of July, I got to visit my grandparent's home again, and  it was one of the loveliest things that happened to me this year. The little house by the sea, has changed, she has gotten a facelift, a new lick of paint, some new flooring, a new roof, a cement patio out in the back, and she now belongs to my uncle and his family. Once again the shutters are open, there are new curtains, and this summer there were kids running through the tiny passage again, a new generation of cousins. I got to sit in one of the wicker chairs again, while we had a meal at the pull out table, the white bathroom cupboard is still there, and in the velvet lined black china hutch, some dishes still hang off of the hooks. It was peaceful, and quiet and magical just like I remembered it. The African violets, sadly are all gone, but all of my wonderful memories those will remain, in my heart, where they have always been.