Oliver Wendell Holmes said, “Where we love is home—home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts.” That phrase is absolute truth to me. I crave to travel, to see the world— I have done some of that—but after a few weeks away I long to see the big prehistoric hills that nestled my childhood. I have been blessed to see many wondrous things, but Niagara Falls and the mountains of Wales have nothing on the feeling when I turn north onto US Highway 83 riding the roller coaster hills to our driveway.
Everyone has different feelings on this place called “home.” Some love the physical space where they live while others look for the feelings they get when gathered with the people that matter to them. I happen to be a mixture of the two. In between my junior and senior year in high school my family had to move, somewhat unexpectedly—mostly for me and my sister. The place that I had stocked up 18 years’ worth of memories was going to turn into one of those memories. Six miles of gravel road I was not going to frequent. The barn where I spent countless hours with kittens and horses and show calves and bucket calves while Gyp, the border collie, hovered below my feet was gone. Less than 30 days to soak up all that I took for granted for 18 years.
We didn’t move too far away, only about six miles as the crow flies. We moved a house in on the family ranch and my sister and I lived with my grandma and my parents lived down the road while we fixed the old double wide up. After four years at the trailer I can honestly say that it doesn’t hold the same place in my heart as the tiny white house did. But this place is still home, regardless that the majority of my childhood memories run through my mind further north. This is my home now because Mom and Dad are here along with the fact that I still live on a ranch in the Sandhills. It is all about perspective. It is about listening to your heart and knowing what it means, understanding that feeling that fills you every time you turn down the street to your destination.
I’m feeling a little sentimental this weekend. I am home for the first time in about two months. The trip was made about a week sooner than my sister and I would have liked, but some unfortunate events changed our plans. It feels good to be back in God’s Cow Country and seeing the black cows with calves by their sides awaiting weaning time. After we unloaded the horses they took off running and bucking just as excited to be home as I am. Laying curled up in my small bedroom with walls painted electric blue I feel more peace in my soul than I have in the past couple of months. Maybe that's what home is? Maybe it's that peace that you feel wherever your heart senses home. Whatever it is, I am glad I am lucky enough to have it.
