The Key to Being a Great House Guest

They say traveling fosters appreciation for your own home; I say having the right kind of guests can do the same thing. We just had family from Pennsylvania stay with us for a week and their visit was an eye-opener for us. A huge pour of vitality into our sense of place. Yes, this is what Canada is like! Yep, this is the prairies! Welcome to our piece of it! every conversation seemed to say, because they were gracious enough to appreciate the nuances we take for granted and show interest in our lives.

The day before our guests arrive my daughters and I are driving home from the lake, trying to mentally prepare for their visit. We are thinking of tips to send them as they embark on their Saskatchewan vacation. Susanna has a scrap of paper and is jotting down our ideas as we come up with them.

“There’s a subtle beauty here,” I say. “It’s not a fast-food, cheap kinda love.” Susanna scribbles it down. “You won’t be bowled over by mountains and oceans and forest.” The big sky, train whistles, and open space grow on you slowly until, one day, you find your attachment to this place goes as deep as the alfalfa roots that chisel through the soil.

We pass by a derelict farmyard. And then another. The canola is in full bloom now and green wheat carpets the fields. A clutch of old grain bins stand together, dying on the land. The wood is aged and rotting and there are gaping holes where the harvest was once kept safe. I think of the picturesque towns of Lancaster County–where our family is coming from–the antique brick buildings, tidy gardens and picket fences. “How do we describe the oldness around here?” I ask the girls. “It’s not a quaint kind of look, but more of a collapsing-in-a-swamp abandonment.”

We pencil in a few more notes and Belén suddenly comments, “You know what’s weird? All of these things sound horrible but when you put them together they describe a place I love.”

Dave, Katrina, and Eli arrive before we complete the list.  Dave helps Stan trench in electrical lines for our new workshop. Katrina makes herself at home in my garden and serves up kale and lemon balm smoothies on a daily basis. Eli slides into routine around here as if getting into an old pair of slippers: eat, play ball, read, repeat. We take them to “our” lake, go for early morning walks on the flats, and play guitar, banjo, fiddle, and the spoons. We build a stage, paint murals and host a house concert together. They have tea with our neighbour, play checkers in the park, and run errands with my girls. The whole time I am learning from them what it means to be a guest.

full patio listening to Kim de Laforest and Greg Simm

When we travel we often stay with friends or family along the way. It’s on these trips that I notice what makes a great host… fresh flowers, comfy pillows, relaxed, no-fuss attitudes. We all love how Uncle Herb and Aunt Vera offer an island full of cheeses, dips, crackers and fruit for grazing. (“Herb and Vera’s” has become common lingo in our house for putting out snacks.) Now, as we host, I am reminding myself how I want to be as a guest.

Dave, Katrina and Eli stay seven days. Seven days can be a long time. It’s 21 meals and shared bathrooms, couches and morning routines. Seven days can seem like an interminable visit or a short week, depending on the dynamics. In our case, it’s the latter and here’s why: they care about the life we are making. They show interest in our home, garden, friends, projects, weather, politics, economy, favourite books, food, and just about everything else.

I realize the most important thing you can do for your hosts is appreciate their home. This doesn’t mean pretending to like it more than your own, where corn on the cob is ready 2 months earlier and the lush countryside is as charming as a page from a storybook. It doesn’t require feigned compliments or making comparisons. It means trying to understand the culture and the community. It means asking questions. About the dragonflies, about the climate, about the plants. It means observing all you can. It means commenting on what is life-giving so that your hosts see their place with new eyes. All of this converts burden into blessing and makes your visit an honour.

Dave and Stan serenading someone to sleep?

Katrina harvesting spinach

Happy travels this summer. Now go notice and bless!

Tricia

PS. Here’s a link to Kim de Laforest and Greg Simm (the musicians we hosted) playing in a very COOL location!

PSS. And another to Katrina’s Soulful Community page 🙂

 

 

 

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Why I can’t invite you over

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Dear friends on my “to-invite” list

One of these days we have to get together
I think we’d get along
We want to get to know you better
but there’s a problem
I can’t invite you over

Can’t pick up the phone
Can’t set a date
Can’t plan for 5:30
Can’t say dinner would be great
Can’t invite you over

Because I know 5:30 around here
It’s laundry on the couch
backpacks blocking the door
lunch left-overs on the table
and a baby with dried snot in her eyebrows

Five-thirty is look-at-this-house! time
How-could-I-be-so-unproductive? time
It’s towels on the bathroom floor
a clatter of cans waiting to be recycled
and piles of junk-mail in the kitchen

If I call you for dinner it will be grand

Except

My husband will be later than expected
All smiles for company but grimaces for hubby
I’ll forget about drinks and only offer water
When the food is finally ready I’ll have to nurse my baby
then finish setting a mismatched table

No, I cannot invite you over
Can’t offer my home
Propose a meal
Or promise perfection
We simply cannot get together

Unless

You show up at my door unannounced
The surprise, my alibi
An excuse for cans and clutter
I’ll move the folded underwear and offer you a seat
You will stay for supper because there is always enough

I will offer you a glass of water in a jar
because all my cups will be in the dishwasher
It won’t tinkle with ice-cubes but it will be wet
Nearly perfect
And I’ll be so glad I didn’t invite you