I just returned from a vacation and I’m not exactly into it.

I’m guessing that for most people who’ve spent some time “away,” whether it be to a beach, to the mountains, or even, as they say, to “Porchville,” resuming pre-vacation life is a bit of a bummer.

There’s work. There are chores, commitments and catching up.

And yet. Home. There really is no place like it, is there?

My time away found me in the Florida Keys, a place I visit each winter since my mom came up with the great idea of becoming a snowbird.

The skies are piercingly clear, even when the forecast claims they’re partly cloudy; the waters are a blue-green that sparkle and shine and the trees bear coconuts and papayas. Even the ground is worth a mention, with its remnants of ancient coral reefs.

I have spots I like to see on the islands - mostly places where I can catch views of the Atlantic Ocean, Florida Bay or Gulf of Mexico.

One favorite is a waterfront park in the village of Tavernier, where my mom stays. That’s where I saw three boats hinged upon the roots of mangrove trees. Battered, broken and unoccupied, they were completely out of place.

One was made of metal scraps that were crudely riveted together. A tree branch served as its mast and a sheet made do as its sail. Another hull was made of salvaged wood and carried an extremely rusted diesel engine. And the third? It was a few chunks of Styrofoam fastened to two old surfboards.

These were “chugs,” or handmade vessels used by migrants who attempt to make a perilous journey to the United States. Law enforcers from the Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission tagged the ragtag trio of crafts - which arrived from Cuba on Jan. 11 - for removal.

It was something I never expected to see in this tropical paradise.

When I texted photos to my uncle, his immediate response said it all:

“How blessed we are to live in the USA.”

I couldn’t stop thinking about this - especially since another rickety boat limped to shore a few days later.

This one, however, made it from Haiti - more than 1,000 miles away.

I didn’t see it - it arrived just before dawn. But that morning, I heard siren after siren and the whirring of choppers. The afternoon saw heavy U.S. Border Patrol and law enforcement patrols on the Overseas Highway, which leads from the Upper Keys to America’s southernmost point of Key West.

We would soon learn that 114 Haitians crammed into a small boat and navigated the choppy Atlantic for 9 days. They made landfall about a quarter-mile from where my mom stays.

The U.S. Coast Guard statement warned that attempting to migrate by sea is not only illegal, but can result in the loss of life.

One migrant told a news reporter that the seas were rough and people were becoming extremely sick. At least twice, he feared the boat would sink and all would die.

I couldn’t help but think about the fathers, mothers and children who risked everything to get “here.” My heart aches to think how terrible it must be to leave behind your home, your belongings, your family and just about everything you ever knew.

Those dilapidated little ships and the stories they held opened my eyes.

They made me grateful for blessings big and small.

They made me appreciate what I too often take for granted.

They made me realize that I should be happy to have had the fortune of a vacation, and be able to return to work, my chores and catching up.

Because home? There really is no place like it, is there?