Etomology of home
For word origins, I go to Etymonline. We find that from Middle English, “home” was hom, and from Old English, it was ham. Back then, the definition was broad and included not only house and abode, but also “village, region, and country”. That is where the word hamlet comes from. Note that a hamlet is so small it doesn’t have a church or a government building. Similar words, such as hem, were used in Germany and those also expanded the meaning beyond sleeping quarters to include the whole village. Makes sense to me, since I call Tennessee home, but often when people mention home, they are referring to the structure that houses their possessions and perhaps the people and creatures they love.
Casual use
When we are leaving work or a social gathering, we might say, “I’m headed home.” When we do that, we’re using the word as a destination, nothing more. It’s an address, a place you can find us next. It’s the same level of attachment we would have by mentioning a home base, a home office, homegrown, or home page. There’s little to no emotional connotation. And why should there be, when we’re referring to a room in our house where we spend the workday, or a the quality of a Better Boy tomato that happened to grow in our garden? But not all phrases that include the word home are soulless. Read on.
Until I started researching words and phrases that include “home”, I had no idea those four letters played such a large part in conversation. In just one site, I found almost 100 common phrases that anchor us. Here are a few examples, including a couple which will either make you smile or panic:
- Home alone – not funny if it isn’t the movie.
- Homesick – never good.
- Home cooking – expected to be good.
- Home free – it’s where you’re safe.
- Welcome home – always pleasant to hear.
- Homecoming – a time of celebration.
- Home plate and home row – it’s where you start and where you go back to.
- Home game – where you have an advantage, perceived or in reality.
The word “home”, in the truest sense, carries emotion of one sort or another. I think it’s safe to say that all of us have an involuntary reaction to the idea of home. It might be fond memories of a Norman Rockwell kind of childhood, or sadness that we can no longer chat with those we love. There might be a negative response if someone’s childhood wasn’t all it could be, but there’s this.
Our definition of home changes. Until after high school, home was where my parents and siblings lived. Later, it was where my husband and babies were. Same definition now, I guess, but these days, the “kid” that lives with me is a cat. I have a comfortable house in a quiet neighborhood in the best part of Tennessee (bring it on if you want to try to argue that point), but all that doesn’t make it home.
The poets' perspectives
Back to Frost and the initial quote for a moment. I think I understand what he was saying, but I’ll take a different road than he chose in this particular instance. It isn’t exactly that the inhabitants have to let you in that makes it home. It wouldn’t feel like shelter if they only open the door because they must, right?
Home to me is a sense of belonging. I can be “me” there–wherever that is–without having to pretend anything. No make-up, no problem. No jewelry? Nobody cares. Looking my age today? Still ok. It isn’t about the structure or the contents. Not for me. Home is where, when you go there, you are in your rightful place.
I’ll leave you with the last verse of Edgar A. Guest’s poem, “Home”. He mentions a certain degree of longevity at a particular place, which is nice, but you carry memories with you wherever you go, and there you are. You make it home, not the address, and not the date of sale. Your memories, your feeling of familiarity, and the love of those who surround you. That’s home. But that’s just my opinion. Read it and decide for yourself.
Ye’ve got t’ sing an’ dance fer years, ye’ve got t’ romp an’ play,
An’ learn t’ love the things ye have by usin’ ’em each day;
Even the roses ’round the porch must blossom year by year
Afore they ’come a part o’ ye, suggestin’ someone dear
Who used t’ love ’em long ago, an’ trained ’em jes’ t’ run
The way they do, so’s they would get the early mornin’ sun;
Ye’ve got t’ love each brick an’ stone from cellar up t’ dome:
It takes a heap o’ livin’ in a house t’ make it home.
After a novel-length journey filled with peril and sacrifice, one of the most beloved stories of all time ends with a little girl’s learning a lesson. She even chants it, as she clicks her heels together: “There’s no place like home, there’s no place like home, there’s no place like home.”
Glad I didn’t have to encounter flying monkeys to learn that lesson!
Home has always been my safe place but has taken on a new meaning since retirement. For 27 years, home was where I parked my stuff and returned each night for 2-3 years…..then on to the next temporary home. During that time, you know you will be leaving and your friends know you will be leaving, the relationship is different. Pre-retirement, your home is more like, “your house”. Post retirement, you let your roots grow. You are going to spend the rest of your life there. You select the house for where you want to be, not the investment. As I sit here in front of the fireplace overlooking Lake Travis without one obligation sharing my final years with the love of my life…..that is home. I am happy with my choices!