It’s 12am on a Friday night and what am I doing? I’m not out partying, doing anything crazy or even anything mellow. Instead, I’m sat in my childhood home (not my room though, that’s long since been claimed by my younger cousin), I’m in the dark, and listening to rain bounce on the rooftop of the porch outside my window.

It got me thinking for a second about the concept of home and how it probably means so many different things to people. Home can be a town, a place or even a person. To me, home is very, very specific. It’s the house in the small town that I grew up in. It’s not new and fancy, it’s not in a subdivision, hell, it doesn’t even have a paved driveway, but it really doesn’t matter at all.

As my grandmother gets older, I’m thinking more and more about what will become of this place once she no longer wants to live here. Most likely, it’s going to be mine and I wonder will it feel the same way to me as it does now? Will I be able to make memories here with my family, will I be able to upkeep it well over time? Chances are (for the foreseeable future) it’ll be nothing more than a summer home to me, since my work/life is three hours away. But still, these are thoughts that cross my mind from time to time.

I can’t imagine not coming here for holidays and weekend escapes. It’s my little piece of quietness. Currently if I take out my ear buds, what can I hear? Nothing, absolutely nothing, and there is something really nice about that, (we won’t get into the fact that there’s been some BEAR sightings out around here lately, yikes!)

If you happen to stumble across this, what do you consider to be home? Is it a town, a place, a person? I’d love to know.

I wish I could find a better photo, but you get the idea. This was taken in November, when I came home for a weekend to ‘help’ with the Christmas lights. Side note – don’t ever hire me to do your decorating!

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