“Querencia – A place where one feels at home.”
When I was looking online for the piece by Georgia Heard, I discovered many sites about “querencia” and this same lesson. The idea for me came from Cindy O’Donnell-Allen’s writer’s notebook unit during training at an AP Summer Institute in 1997.
The Lesson
As part of my Writer’s Notebook lesson when I was teaching, I would read the following article with my students:
“Querencia” 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.
Recently, I was talking to my friend Don, telling him about querencia. He said, “Yes, querer–it means the wanting place.” He helped me realize that for writers, that burning urge to write is our querencia. In order to feel at home we have to be writing. We feel awful if we haven’t written in a week, if we don’t write in our journals every day. Writing is a way of finding and keeping our home.
At home, in daylight, I retreat to my study to write, to gather strength, to fill up again. I feel most at home during the day, sitting in my writing chair with my feet up, a cup of coffee or tea on the desk. It’s difficult for me to find my querencia and write at night.
When I don’t have quiet in my life I sometimes ignore the pull toward that chair: it seems more important to make phone calls and pay bills. But I’m ignoring the voice that will lead me to safety, take me home. My body knows it. I feel cranky and life seems dull. The more I write, the more I have the urge to write, and the closer I come to finding my way home
(Heard, Georgia. Writing Toward Home. Portsmouth: Heinemann, 1995. Print).
Next Step With My Students
After we read this piece, I would show them the picture of a bull during a bullfight that my sister and I attended with my nephew while he was living in Aguas Calientes, Mexico. I described how I experienced my first–and last–bullfight, my reaction to the bullfight, how I got caught up in the crowd, cheering right along. It was a little disturbing in some sense because I do see the cruelty that many associate with bull fighting, but somehow I got swept up in all the emotion.
Then, I would share my querencia with students and explain how my querencia has changed through the years. When my two daughters were younger, the three of us lived in a nice comfortable home. My bedroom was big enough to have a big, comfy chair with a large ottoman. I would sit in that chair and experience my querencia. In the spring, sometimes my querencia is outside in the fresh air among the sounds of nature. In the summer, many times it is by the water, resting in the soothing sensation of the water’s movement.
Their Querencia Assignment
After sharing with students, I would ask them to write their response (in their Writer’s Notebooks) to the following prompt that follows the article:
“Write about where you feel most at home, where your querencia is. Describe it in such clear detail that you feel you’re there. Gather photographs and pictures of your querencia and tape them to your wall or carry them with you. Search for your querencia. Keep asking yourself: Where do I come from? Where do I feel most at home? Where do I feel most happy and relaxed? What is my ideal writing environment? Where can I write with my full powers? (Heard, Georgia. Writing Toward Home. Portsmouth: Heinemann, 1995. Print).
Where is My Querencia Now?
My original draft of this post back in February explains where my querencia was at that time: “Right now it is our sunroom in our home where I can watch the exquisitely colored sunsets, frolicking rabbits, grazing deer, grinning opossums, and a wide variety of beautifully colored birds. I can look out over the pond surrounded by green pastures and majestic trees. It is where I do jigsaw puzzles because the light is so magnificent during the day.”
Now, I’m working to create my querencia at our new place. It is almost complete – a room set off from the rest of the house where I have a black futon, a small desk with a lap top, a couple of bookcases, inspirational posters, pictures of my family, special items from my travels to Germany, Mexico, and France. I have spent a little time there, but certainly feel the need to spend more.
I can tell I have missed it because, as Georgia Heard writes, “When I don’t have quiet in my life I sometimes ignore the pull toward that chair: it seems more important to [text and check emails]. But I’m ignoring the voice that will lead me to safety, take me home. My body knows it…The more I write, the more I have the urge to write, and the closer I come to finding my way home.”
And You?
For some, it might just be your favorite chair in a room. For others, it might be the space where they go to create – whether that is writing, drawing, painting, building, or tinkering. Maybe it is where you go to meditate, pray, or just sit quietly alone with your thoughts.
Where is your querencia? Where do you feel most at home? How would you describe it?