There is an old camper parked in the neighborhood. I suspect it is someone’s home. All winter it has been parked there with curtains drawn. This morning, with spring bursting out all over the streets of the city, the resident of the camper pushed aside the curtains and opened the rear window.
With a laundromat nearby and a convenience store for day-old donuts, hotdogs and spoiled fruit, someone makes a home in the city. At one time, this someone had owned or rented a place with furniture, perhaps a yard and a place to park the camper.
For two years a man lived in the Mississippi River gorge. He woke up from his tent, folded it, and hoisted it onto his back to carry it with him to the nearby convenience store. He washed and bought coffee and bread. Through Minnesota’s winter and spring, winter and spring he lived in the gorge. Did he chose to live in the gorge or was it too difficult to get into a city-run shelter? There are not enough homeless shelters for the numbers of people living on the streets. Many shelters are for families only or there is a strict check in time.
Like a seed in the earth, tantalized by the promise of the sun and growth, a person emerges from home with the promise of life and dreams. A home is not just a house to fulfill physical needs, but a place of dreams.
Gaston Bachelard ( 1884-1962) one of Europe’s leading philosophers said this of houses:
The house as I see it, is a sort of airy structure that moves about on the breath of time. It really is open to the wind of another time. It seems as though it could greet us every day of our lives in order to give us confidence in life. from The Poetics of Space, 1958