Category Archives: Holidays

“Solitude in the garden is not the absence of life, but the presence of peace.”

There’s something magical about being home on a random Tuesday. It feels as though your life slows down while everyone else’s moves at the speed of light. People rush around like busy bees, chasing schedules, responsibilities, and places they need to be.

Just yesterday was Memorial Day, a long holiday weekend filled with barbecues, loud music, laughter, and conversations spilling out into the streets late into the evening. The neighborhood felt alive, crowded with noise and movement. But today, it feels as though I’m the only person left here. Everyone has gone back to work or wherever it is people disappear to on weekdays. The only sounds now are the occasional cars passing by on the street.

My morning started simply enough. I went outside to water the freshly seeded grass in our front yard. While standing there, I began noticing little things I had somehow missed before: new flowers beginning to bloom, plants stretching taller overnight, fresh shades of green appearing everywhere I looked. One small task led to another. I decided to sweep and clean the entryway, which somehow turned into cleaning out the garage.

When I finally finished, I thought I was done for the day. I grabbed my laptop and headed out to the patio to write. But the world around me refused to let me focus for very long. Bees hovered happily around my freshly planted flowers. Butterflies drifted through the air near the mulberry bush. Birds landed one after another at the bird feeder. Even the plants themselves seemed to be calling out to me: Look at me. Look at me.

My peonies had bloomed overnight, as if by magic. Tiny apples had already begun forming where blossoms once were only days ago. 

And near the side of the house, a stubborn patch of stinging nettle stood taller and thicker than ever, proudly claiming its little corner of the yard.

It’s the European kind of stinging nettle, the kind that truly stings when it brushes against your skin. Growing up in Europe, I saw it everywhere and learned quickly to stay away from it. Now, I welcome it. I dry the leaves and make tea from them, just like my grandfather taught me to do a few years before he passed away.

Every time I see those nettles growing wild beside the house, I think of him.

Home. There is nothing quite like being home and truly feeling at home.

But home wasn’t always this peaceful.

In May of 1992, my whole life changed in the blink of an eye. The world around me exploded, destroying everything I held dear. The place I once called home shattered into pieces. The country I called home was torn apart into smaller countries. People turned on one another: torture camps, rape camps, robbing, killing. Humanity itself seemed to disappear overnight.

Somehow, I survived.

Perhaps it was so I could bear witness. So I could write about the home I lost and the country that no longer exists.

And maybe that is why days like this mean so much to me now. Quiet Tuesdays. Blooming peonies. Bees hovering over flowers. Tiny apples growing where blossoms used to be. The smell of freshly watered grass. The comfort of familiar walls and open windows.

When you lose home once, you never again take ordinary days for granted.

Maybe that is why I notice everything now.

Because after chaos, peace becomes sacred.

And after losing a home, finding one again feels nothing short of miraculous.

About the Author

Sanela Ramic Jurich is a survivor of the Yugoslav war and the 
author of several novels inspired by lived experience. 
She writes to remember, to honor, and to ensure that even 
the darkest chapters are never erased.

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