Today’s installment of The Grapevine comes directly from the homeplace.
As I type this, I am sitting on the back porch staring at nothing but wide open spaces. I have a blanket over me and a cup of coffee next to me. I can’t hear anything except wind chimes and the dogs playing in the barn lot.
It is a far cry from the home I share with Mr. Maebell in the suburbs.
Home, the real home, the one where I grew up, the one where I sit right now definitely means the most. The memories rooted here are deep. I could tell you a story about every room, like the hole that was haphazardly patched in the bedroom I grew up in. My brother and I had knocked something over, resulting in a deep hole right next to the door. We panicked and fixed it with wood putty (because we thought walls were made of wood). Then painted over it and dried it with a hair dryer. The hole went unnoticed for years until the summer before I went to college.
It is impossible to look at that messy patch job without smiling.
Or the tree in the front yard my siblings and I would climb. For some reason, that tree looks a lot smaller to me than it used to.
Then you have the home I share with Mr. Maebell. Our first home, the one we have remodeled and repainted. There is not a fixture in that place I have not refinished. It has been a labor of love. Sure, it lacks the character of the farm house I grew up in but that home saw us through college, an engagement, a wedding, it is the first place I ever got mail with my new name on it. The place our best friend lived with us when he returned from overseas, the place my brother moved for his first year of college. These walls have been host to some of the biggest moments of my life. How could I not call this place home, too?
Even though both of these places are near and dear to me I know neither one of them is permanent. I have already moved away from my first home, and I know our time is limited in this little house we live in now. They are chapters in our story, but they are not the whole book. I know we will move on and have other homes, probably some we love, and some we don’t. But I will forever be grateful for the houses that made me.
How very lucky I am to have two places I call home.