Whenever I leave for “home” my grand daughter says, “No, Grammy, New York is not your home, this is.” And yes it is so. This is my home now and I am glad for it, blessed by it, revel in it, can’t wait for the day to begin, can’t get enough of it. And never, ever do I look back.

But a few weeks back, there we were in the car, on automatic pilot, headed back to the burbs of New York and Connecticut where our oldest daughter lives and with whom we would be staying. My, my. How was I feeling? Here we were on Interstate 95, driving as fast as we could, passing all the familiar landmarks of the past 25 years and loving every minute of it. We were on our way to see friends, take care of sick relatives and reacquaint ourselves with life as we knew it.

We had lived that life in the New York suburbs since we were both babies, moving from lower Westchester County to Fairfield County before settling on a country site in Mount Kisco, N.Y. 30 years ago. We had finally found the privacy that more land could give us. We were there for life, we said.

But life changes and so did our gem of a home, our 100-year-old farmhouse with the palladium windows. The home that had been featured twice in Good Housekeeping Magazine, the corner house, the bedrock of the neighborhood, had vanished overnight. In its place stood a large, Tudor-style stucco, something the Munsters might have lived in. When I looked up at it from the road, I thought it was about six stories high. It loomed over the road, almost touching the sky, truly an eyesore in a quaint neighborhood of colonial homes.

But it was not my concern. Over and out, moving on. Life seemed so rushed. People never smiled or seemed relaxed. There were stores upon stores, strip malls upon strip malls, big signs and bigger buildings.

Somehow we accomplished all our errands and made all our appointments. And somehow I really enjoyed it. I didn’t mind navigating the now-crowded roads and the fast and rude drivers that I was so happy to leave behind. Still, I had questions. Did I or did I not miss our life of over 50 years in the communities we had chosen to live and thrive in with our children and then as empty nesters? Was the transition to the Vineyard so great that these places were part of my DNA; I am wired for this pace and environment?

The answer is no. The change has been perfect. Not just because of growing older or more comfortable, but because from the Island we have learned what small town life really is, what caring for your fellow man is all about. And we have experienced true nature, learning about the sea and the tides and the changes in weather patterns. We have learned what farming is all about, how we live off the land of those who toil so laboriously to give us fresh, healthy food to eat. We can watch the harvest come in right across the street. And we can walk out our front door and see the most beautiful skies and sunlight, and at night the deepest and most vivid sunsets.

A home, a house. What is in that home and what surrounds it? How many windows does it have? How often do we look out those windows and see what we want to see? When does enough become enough? When we are content with ourselves?

As we finished our visit and returned “home” to the Vineyard, I realized the world will always be changing. And that peace comes from what we choose and where we choose to live it.

Sue Lamoreaux lives in Edgartown and

contributes ocassionally to the Gazette.