Well, the book I am reading right now is sooo good I had to share, even though I'm only about halfway through. It is called Pilgrim's Inn, by Elizabeth Goudge. Written in 1948, it tells the story of two families in England, the Adairs and the Eliots, who meet by coincidence, but whose lives become closely entwined. Pilgrim’s Inn is the name of the house where the Eliots live, and where much of the action takes place. I read a passage today that just said so perfectly why I like books about homes and families, and also highlights exactly why autumn is my favorite season. (Alright, so spring is fast approaching. I couldn’t just hang on to this until October!) Okay, listen:
“The Eliots found it a queer sort of evening, a transition evening. Hitherto the house had been to them a summer home; they had known it only permeated with sun and light, flower-scented, windows and doors wide open. But now doors were shut, curtains drawn to hide the sad gray dusk. Instead of the lap of the water against the river wall they heard the whisper of the flames, and instead of the flowers in the garden they smelled the roasting chestnuts, burning apple logs, coffee, the oil lamps, polish, all the house smells. This intimacy with the house was deepening; when winter came it would be deeper still. Nadine glanced over her shoulder at the firelight gleaming upon the dark wood of the paneling, at the shadows gathering in the corners, and marveled to see how the old place seemed to have shrunk in size with the shutting out of the daylight. It seemed gathering them in, holding them close.”
How great is that? It is how I feel about my own house, and how I hope you feel about yours—everybody needs a nest.
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