Home Away From Home

Everyone needs a home away from home, if for no other reason than to keep him from taking for granted what he has at his own home. I grew up in eastern Nebraska, but frequently enjoyed the journey to Max, a tiny town in western Nebraska where my mother's parents lived. Their hobby farm, complete with chickens, rabbits, the occasional other livestock, large garden, and alfalfa field welcomed my family, no matter what the season. With difficulties in the running-water department, and heating department, their old farmhouse, required a bit of patience, and reminded me how much warm water and warm air meant to me. Even with its physical failings, though, their home exuded warmth of a different kind: love. For this reason, we loved visiting grandma and grandpa Lapp, chasing their livestock (sometimes slaughtering their livestock), and picking cherries and apricots from their fruit trees. Their home was not mine, but it was as much home as any other place.

After graduating from high school, I have called at least two other places home--St. Paul, MN and Whitefish, MT--before moving halfway around the world to Kunming, China to teach. One thing led to another, and I married a beautiful Chinese woman who grew up in He Kou, a tiny city sprawling along the Hong He river facing Vietnam in southeast Yunnan Province. With family now only an eight to ten hour drive away (depending on traffic), He Kou, and more specifically Suli's childhood home, has become my new home away from home. From Nebraska, to Minnesota, to Montana, to Kunming, and now to He Kou. The photo above is Suli's childhood home, with her sister and brother-in-law's car sitting out front. The barred window to the right looks in on a bedroom, which has another bedroom behind it. The doorway enters on the main sitting room of the home. Lastly, the shed roof on the left end of the building houses the kitchen, which cannot be accessed without stepping outside.

In many ways, this home reminds me of my grandparents' home in western Nebraska, but the most obvious similarity is the smell. Situated in a tiny village outside of the main city of He Kou, Suli's home smells of dust and livestock (chickens mostly). The wonderful smells issuing from this simple kitchen (pictured above with Mama) also remind me of my grandparents' home. Their kitchen was quite a bit more technologically advanced than Mama's, but those two enormous, cast iron woks create some incredible food, even though they are still wood-fired. The table on the right acts as both a dinner table, and at times, a mahjong table, and we surround the table sitting on the simple benches like the one in the photo.
Just outside the back door of the kitchen, seen on the right in the background of the previous picture, is the outdoor shower and the "sink" for washing dishes. This stainless steel bowl with cold tap water was my station after meals. Because I really am not good at making Chinese food, I gladly (well, not always gladly) accepted the job of cleaning up after meals. I am actually sitting on a very short stool, because I am also not very good at squatting, which is how most Chinese people "sit" when chairs are not available.
While some might argue that the tap water is drinkable, no one in Suli's family drinks that water. They either drink bottled water, or they drink the spring water that comes out of the hill about two-hundred yards up the road from the house. I also felt comfortable volunteering for the job of carrying the water back to the house in galvanized steel buckets. Suli's family was actually pretty surprised at my willingness to do this job and at how well I performed it. I hardly spilled any water (only when I was picking up the buckets). In a small way, this form of fetching water also reminds me of bringing in water from the pump well at my grandparents' home. They also had a well that worked on an electric pump, but we actually enjoyed watching the water come out of the old pump well.
The front room is the main meeting room, but during Chun Jie, with two different mahjong tables being used, some of the family shifted outside to play on the front porch. In fact, most of the families in the neighborhood tend to play mahjong on their respective front porches. When I walked down the street to the local cesuo (outhouse, which also reminds me of my grandparents') the sound of mahjong tiles being "washed" (mixed) between games could be heard in every direction.

After over a week of sleeping on an extremely hard bed, coming back to Kunming made me appreciate my nice, soft, supportive bed, but it also made me appreciate my home away from home. When my back feels better, I look forward to the next trip to He Kou, my new home away from home.