A RAINY DAY IN MAINE

A RAINY DAY IN MAINE

I am currently taking a writing course here in Maine. Several weeks ago our wonderful teacher presented the class with an essay called “Querencia,” by poet and author Georgia Heard. 

On this rainy Spring afternoon, I’ve read the essay several times — it gives me a special feeling and I want to share it with you.  Enjoy!

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“Querencia” 

Writing Toward Home, by Georgia Heard

A few summers ago, I experienced my first — and last — bullfight in a small French town near the Spanish border where Picasso once lived. When the gate to the ring opened, the beautiful, confused bull burst in like wind, radiating power as he circled amid the shouts of the spectators. The matadors hid behind walls like scared children, studying the bull carefully. The banderillero approached on his horse and pierced the bull’s neck with the banderillas–barbed swords. The swords hung from the bull; blood streamed down his shoulders. It was then I learned about querencia. 

In Spanish, querencia describes a place where one feels safe, a place from which one’s strength of character is drawn, a place where one feels at home. It comes from the verb “querer”, which means to desire, to want. 

The wounded bull retreated to a spot to the left of the gate through which he had entered, to rest, it seemed. He had found his querencia: a place where he felt safe and was therefore at his most dangerous. 

The matador tries not to let the bull find this place because it increases the danger to himself. For the bull, it is a place where he believes he can survive this unfair game. Unfortunately, and cruelly, he almost never does. It is said that if the same bull were to fight more than once in the ring, every matador would die; once an animal learns the game and stands in his power, he cannot be defeated. 

Animals have querencia by instinct. The golden plover knows every year where to fly when it migrates. Rattlesnakes know by the temperature when to lie dormant. In winter, sparrows and chickadees know where their food is and return to the same spot again and again. Querencia is a matter of survival. A nest, a mole’s tunnel, is querencia. 

Humans have querencia, too. We know where we feel most at home. Our bodies tell us, if we listen. There are certain seasons during which we feel more at ease. Certain times of day when we feel safe and more relaxed. Certain climates. Terrain. Even the clothes we wear make us feel more at home. 

When I meet people, I like to ask them what their querencia is. Some know immediately: mountains, the city, near the ocean. But many don’t know. Having a sense of where we feel most at home is a way of keeping grounded; it can give us that sense of rootedness and safety. 

Some people’s querencia is linked with nature: the sound of wind in the pines, the call of a loon, the salty smell of the ocean. Some feel most at home in a crowded cafe or in a public library, voices humming softly around them. 

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Thank you, Georgia Heard.  

My personal querencia could be hugging my grandchildren or sitting with my husband at cocktail time by the fire. It might be the contentment I feel completing the New York Times Saturday crossword puzzle in ink. It’s an afternoon walk along the rocky coast with a dear pal, sharing worries and joys. It’s the gratitude of discovering a wee little pansy pot left on my front stoop in honor of May Day. It’s watching the drops splash on the daffodils blooming in my front garden on this rainy Spring day in Maine.