My Voyage Home: The Mingling of Then and Now, Thither and Yon

After the 9:30 a.m. worship concluded at Greenwich's Second Congregational Church I resolved to saunter among the eternal resting places of my ancestors -well, just a few of them, that is.

I come from a rather large and extended family whose roots in Connecticut go back almost four hundred years. Getting to all of them after my recent arrival from Hawaii would be quite a proposition to satisfy. In my case it would be especially challenging because I know these souls and their histories all too well. I had been to their homes, their graves, rambled among the twists and turns of byways sheltered by the shade of oak, maple and white birch trees.

The Second Congregational Church of Greenwich, Connecticut USA. This edifice was built in 1856 by my family. It was designed by Leopold Eidlitz, considered America's first Jewish architect.

Still, I was home again and certain duties awaited to be performed. Ties and roots were to be renewed. It was custom. It was tradition.

Eric Sloane was right when he reportedly said, "Adventure is not outside us but within." Based primarily in Hawaii, I've called the Asia-Pacific Rim my home for over fifteen years. It's been a colorful journey with its shares of ups and downs, joys and disappointments.

This is the front entrance to Putnam Cottage, also known as Knapp's Tavern. The scalloped shingle style is original to the house, which was initially built circa 1690. My ancestors who fought in the American Revolutionary War were patrons of this place. 

Each time I return to my ancestral home it hits me that my wanderings have been and continue to be quite transformational.

But at the same time I find myself coming full-circle to an appreciation of the enduring, solidifying beauty that homecomings have consistently offered me. Some say you can't come home; I kindly beg to differ.

This is the arbor behind Bush Holley House, the headquarters of the Greenwich Historical Society. 

It's funny to admit this but I have developed a deeper appreciation of all that is called "home" precisely by freeing myself from the conventions that nourished my character here. I've come to understand the nation I come from -the United States of America- set itself free by embracing an imperative force we call freedom.

Charting such a creative, original course is certainly stimulating. Yet I am reminded that rootedness is to be cherished, celebrated and venerated. I was offered an opportunity to again embrace an understanding.

When I gazed at the steeple of Greenwich's Second Congregational Church that day I was reacquainted with the fact that I am descendant of those who took the risk and cast themselves on a precarious journey.

They settled on a jagged, rocky coastline where the climatic changes were extreme based on the endless cycle of the seasons. It as harsh. But the place we call home could and was made habitable by determination and endurance.

The Bush Holley House, Cos Cob. George Jackson Smith and his wife were direct ancestors who owned and operated a rooming house for railroad workers. The double porches and French windows facing the front were because of them. 

This is a spiritual walk that is hard to articulate into adequate words. I have a reverence for those who traversed the roads of my ancestral home because so many of those held values that are authentic and enduring. When I gaze at the miles of stone walls that frame our roads, the oaks, maples and pines, antique homes, farm tools, lakes and ponds, church steeples and the resolute gravestones that surrounded me after church was done, I felt in touch with a truer life transcendently connected to something larger than the sum total of my own life.

Color is a many splendored thing with this garden plot full of coleus plants. They are among my favorites. 

I had originally planned to return to a place and a people I hold near and dear. That place is Singapore. Words are inadequate to describe how disappointed I was to break the news -especially to one I hold near and dear- that my return to the Lion City would have to be postponed. That hurt.

This unique weather vane straddles the roof of a house off Field Point Road, not far from the Greenwich Library. 

But then it hit me. The journey that was started centuries ago still continues. Despite modern, technological progress the acoustics of this adventure were the same as those who preceded me. How deliciously delightful!

Sending greetings, aloha and salutations from Starbucks off Greenwich Avenue, July 2014. 

To my friends, former students -and a special, far-off loved one- welcome to my tale. These poetic narratives are for you. Pray, please, that I succeed in guiding you -through my words and images- to an adequate account of a place I revere, a place special to me.

For I am home. Again -and I am so glad to have you along for the ride.