Every morning at dawn, I take our two dogs for a walk down our two-thousand-foot driveway to do their “business.” On a windless, cold, and clear morning, we were returning at sunrise. The morning sunlight was shining through the lazy smoke coming from the chimney of our wood stove. It was a beautiful sight. Both the sunlight and smoke were ethereal reminders of warmth. It made me think of the heat that would greet us when we entered our home.
A house and a home are not the same thing. A house is an inanimate thing. It can be in the planning stage, under construction, finished and occupied, unoccupied, abandoned, or fallen over in ruin. A home, on the other hand, is alive. It has all the necessities for living in that time and place. A home is filled with living occupants creating relationships in unending variations. The noun “dwelling” is interchangeable with the noun “home”. A noun (a thing) with the “ing,” usually reserved for verbs (an action), implies the active quality that turns a house into a home. A home has taken many forms around the world and over time. Caves and brush huts supplied shelter and family gathering spots for all our ancient ancestors. Skin, bark, and snow structures did the same. Stone and mud brick were used to make more permanent structures for early and modern agricultural communities. Then came fired brick, wood, and steel construction, more common in the modern world.
All of these structures could be considered homes due to the comfort and security they provided for the people and families of that time and place. These homes were designed using local materials and the technologies of the era to provide a gathering place for close human contact, eating, sleeping, warmth, and protection. Ancient and modern homes all have one thing in common. Whatever materials were used, they divided the world into outer and inner space. Walls with a roof were and are a demarcation of safety and security. There might be wind, rain, or snow “out there” but not “in here.” There may be danger out there, but not in here. Things disperse outside. Things gather inside. Outside is more work while inside is more rest. Outside is public. Inside is private. Much of the outside is uncontrollable, but much of the inside is controllable. Walls and a roof of any kind do all this.
For those who can afford a modern home, there are amenities not even invented 150 years ago. Hot and cold running water, flush toilets, electric lights, automated heat and cooling, plus sophisticated food cooking and storage were not available at any price. Most modern dwellings around the world contain some version of this added comfort and convenience.
My mother (1930-2019) grew up with three siblings on a family farm in SE Michigan. They had no running water, only a hand pump in the kitchen. Single electric light bulbs were added in 1938. The heat source was several wood stoves throughout the house and a woodfired cookstove in the kitchen. The outhouse was the only toilet, regardless of the weather. Toilet paper was last year’s Sears Roebuck catalogue and corn cobs. Yes, corn cobs. After shelling the corn, the cobs were saved for the outhouse. The cobs were vigorously rubbed against a wooden edge to soften them as much as possible. Ever heard the expression “rough as a cob”? Mom always referred to the family farm as “home” but never “the farm.” Sometimes she would say the “home place,” which I always thought included the land and barns. She certainly appreciated the modern components of the home she and Dad bought to raise their family.
Most of my work as a licensed building contractor was additions and remodels in historic and vintage houses and light commercial buildings. All of my projects focused on converting older structures to meet the modern expectations of a home. Comfort and convenience plus more space were the motives of my customers. Modern families have more things that need space in expanded closets, shelves, garages, and additions. Upgraded appliances were expected. Private bedrooms for each child are a relatively new expectation. I grew up sharing one bedroom with two brothers. My three sisters shared two bedrooms. My old Polish Catholic neighbors in Leelanau County, Michigan raised seven boys in one bedroom and seven girls in another located on the unheated second floor of a one hundred year old farm house. Expectations about what makes a home have really changed.
It is the human activity that converts a structure we might call a “house” into something more lively called a “home.” In Michigan, I worked on “summer homes” owned by wealthy executives for Ford, General Electric, Keebler, and Knight-Ridder News. Their “lake homes” were abuzz with activity during the warm summer months, but were abandoned the rest of the year, save for occasional trades and maintenance workers. Being in these posh places with no occupants made them feel lonely despite their rich accoutrements. Although I have never visited any, I know there are many such “summer homes” in the Arrowhead. Cook County counts roughly fifty percent of all residential structures as being occupied only seasonally. I often wonder if summer people’s main homes seem as abandoned in summer as their winterized lake home.
Year-round residents of resort areas know the seasonally split differences in their community created by the presence of summer homes going dormant in winter. That’s because a home supplies stability and a sense of “place,” which are important conditions for human and community development. A home provides a permanent and enduring base of operation for its occupants. A group of homes creates a stable environment in which a healthy community can flourish. However, modern employment and economic mobility can undermine some of these traditional values of home, as some people and families live in their residences for short times. The current lack of housing has created instability in adult employment and children’s basic education.
Whatever home we live in, whether temporarily or permanently, it is important for us to remember what a home offers us as people. Stable homes are basic to the very nature of our communities and the country we live in. I hope your home is warm this winter and the morning sun greets you and your community each day.
