EDMOND — “This looks like a nice place to live, let’s stay here.” My husband used to say this as we turned in the driveway after a vacation, but now one of the children says it before he gets the chance. Last week, it was our almost-16-year-old who said it as we turned in at the house with little helicopters growing in the grass, weeds in the flower-beds and a burned-out porch light. Nevertheless, the first glimpse of our good ol’ house, where everything I need is where I expect it to be, right down to the dirty socks under the beds, is a balm on my travel-weary soul.

Don’t misunderstand, we had a wonderful time. My husband missed his calling as a travel-on-the-cheap agent, when he pursued a degree in accounting. He spends almost as many hours at the computer researching, planning, printing directions from one attraction to another and sending for promotional brochures as we do on our summer trip, and this year he outdid himself.

He rented a house on the outer banks of South Carolina where wild horses cool their hooves in the surf and dolphins perform acrobatics a little off-shore. The house came with a boat dock on the sound side of the peninsula, sea-kayaks, canoes, a rowboat, complete fishing gear, boogie boards, a well-equipped kitchen, a full can of propane for the grill, beds for eight, three bathrooms, several TVs and book, game and movie libraries. Seven nights and six days cost $950.

My children thought it a major asset that the house only could be reached by four-wheel-drive navigation of 8 miles of roadless beach. At high tide, we were pushed right up against the dunes where the sand was churned into a tow-truck driver’s dream. We let half the air out of the tires every time we ventured out and had to refill them when we returned to pavement. Beach driving was an adventure I could have lived without, but the sea and sound kayaking, boogie boarding, beach combing, fishing and long evenings of playing games, reading and watching the sunset on the sound made it well worth a little fear getting there.

Before heading home, we visited Washington, D.C., Mt. Vernon, Yorktown and Williamsburg, Va. Four of our children went with us and we all had a wonderful time.

But there’s something about coming home. As we drew near, gasoline prices dropped. The fields stretched a little wider and the trees seemed a little shorter. We turned off the air conditioning and rolled down the windows. My hair got frizzy in the rich, damp air and the cicadas didn’t wait for evening to serenade. The wild flowers on the highway shoulders changed from poppies and larkspur to brown-eyed susans. Drivers going 10 under the speed limit toodled along in the center lane of the Interstate. We were home.

The car was barely stopped when my 11-year-old ran to the back to see if Mother Nature had watered his garden. She had. My husband bolted to the vegetable garden and found ripe black berries, blueberries and tomatoes. I visited my flower gardens and found lilies, cosmos, nasturtiums and zinnias blooming. It seemed like a miracle that they could bloom without my visiting them every day, but there they were, right as rain.

We ate macaroni and cheese for dinner after I cleaned out the fridge of food for which I’d overestimated the freshness dates. Since we had use of a washer and dryer at the rental house, I only had five days worth of laundry for six people mounded in the laundry room. With faith we can move mountains but it’s easiest to do it one load at a time. I started on the whites, suspiciously light in the underwear department for one family member.

There were 10 minutes worth of messages on the answering machine. I missed Hillary’s drop-out speech. My library books were two days overdue and I owed a dollar in fines. My friends say they missed me, there were several pressing tasks relating to my church work and the yard and garden took most of a day to shape up, but this is my life. It’s pleasant to be an anonymous tourist for a while, but I think I love vacations most for the sweetness of coming back to the niche where I fit.

BETH STEPHENSON is an Edmond resident.