There’s No Place Like Home

It’s no coincidence that my favorite movie of all time is The Wizard of Oz. Just like Dorothy, I’ve been known to click my heels together and chant “there’s no place like home.” I can get homesick going on a half-hour trip to a neighboring town for the day.

It’s not that I don’t like to travel, and I do quite frequently (or used to before the little ones) but I’m always so happy to come home. I’m sure I inherited this trait from my grandfather, who never wanted to be far from home (despite traveling extensively) and who lived the entire 91 years of his life within 5 miles of where he was born.

In lieu of crafty projects, today I’m just sharing some photos of the place I call home, the area where my family has lived for generations.

What one person calls home may not be a place another person even wants to visit (just ask my husband!).

For some, “home” might not be where you grew up but where you live now.

I think a good test of “home” is whether you get a lump in your throat when you leave and/or when you return.

I know it’s sappy, but I can’t even watch movies about my area without getting choked up (Coal Miner’s Daughter (my Granny and Loretta Lynn were both born in Butcher Holler) and October Sky to name but two).

I’m sure I’ll pack my bags again soon and strike off somewhere fun, but I’m also certain I’ll be anxious to head for the hills at the end of my journey. My feet may land me somewhere else but my heart will always be in these mountains.