Where Is Home - Vicki Archer

the view from the bedroom window

When I received this month’s conversation topic from Marsha of the lovely blog Splenderosa I immediately thought… Oh no… this is a tricky subject… Asking me to write about home and where it is… well, that is a little complicated. Is it where I live most of the time? Some of the time? Is it where I grew up? Any sentence with the word, ‘home’ in it always covers me in confusion and creates a conundrum for me. You see… I am not at all sure where ‘home’ is when it is used in that where-do-you live kind of context.

Let me explain.

I was born and raised in Australia and for whatever reason I was cursed or blessed with a desire to travel and see the world from a very young age. I travelled as a child with my mother, I travelled as a single girl whenever I could and I travelled often with my husband after I married. I never grew tired of visiting different countries and I harboured a secret longing to live in a far away place one day. But that was all it was a secret longing, a feeling that maybe there was a ‘home’ somewhere else for me that I was yet to discover.

the clipped winter plane trees in the village

weekly markets

the beauty of patina and the old fashioned ways

surrounding villages.

Over the years France had become a favourite destination and in 1999 whilst on holiday my family and I fell in love with a dilapidated property just on the outskirts of the small village of Saint Rémy de Provence called Mas de Bérard. I have always believed in love at first sight when it comes to romance, but in my case it was love at first sight with an old farmhouse. In that instant my life as I knew it changed and that one heart stopping moment set in motion a chain of events that altered everything. On impulse we bought the property; we went back to Australia and promptly disentangled our lives, sold our home and moved to the other side of the world. I was crazy in love and had not one minute’s hesitation or doubt, I knew that France and in particular this old abandoned fruit farm was our future ‘home’. Like all things in life it wasn’t as simple or as easy as all that. I have three children and at that time they were young and in school, my husband had business commitments and the house was unliveable. We compromised and moved to London where work and schools were possible and I could renovate the farmhouse with a much easier commute. I never imagined myself living in London – France yes – but London, never. To me, London was Buckingham Palace, Big Ben and the Tower of London not a city I ever could imagine as home.

the front door I call home

the olive trees twelve years on

springtime under the rose arbour

the terrace where most of our time is spent in the summer

looking towards the Alpilles mountains from the terrace

We moved, we survived and now I split my time between London and Provence with visits to Australia whenever I can. If you ask me today where home is I will say France but whenever I am talking about London or Australia I will also refer to them as home. My children would consider their home to be in London although they are very comfortable in France and are true Australians. I have come to realize that home can be as many places as you want it to be. Our home in Provence has captured my heart – from the very first day I saw it I have been smitten. London was another matter all together; it was not love at first sight. London and all it’s wonders has crept up on me. I would say that many years passed before I felt that London held a place for me… I was ‘being’ and ‘doing’… going through the motions… but without a real sense of belonging… Now I feel engaged with the city and I look forward to my time spent there each year.

When I think of Provence I think of the light, the space, the beautiful villages, the slow pace of life… I relish the seasons and all that nature has to offer… I love that we live where the Romans lived… that we drink and bathe in water from the same sources… I adore that I talk farming here and that I discuss weather and what it means for our olives…
London on the other hand is a fast buzzing metropolis yet at the same time it feels like a series of linked villages. I have grown to love London’s noisy ways, her red double decker buses, the green parks and even the drizzle. London keeps me in touch with what is happening in the world… she keeps me on track… and continually moving… The best thing about living between London and Provence… they are only two hours and a bit away from Paris by fast train.

London and France are both ‘home’ to me now… but France… well France… she has my heart… xv