Time stands still in my little country town. My room is a shrine with pink shag carpet and collectable dolls sitting upon the shelves collecting dust. When reflecting upon my childhood, I often reminisce about carefree days and long hours of play. We would only come in when we heard the cry for dinner.
I am blessed to still be able to go home, the only home I have ever known. My parents still reside in the old cobblestone house wedged in like the furniture that remains in place for all these decades.
My childhood home is special place, where I experienced the firsts of everything I have ever known. My first blue sky, my first snow flake, my first kiss and even my first heartbreak.
The coziness of a warm fire, chimney puffing. Father chopping, filing and carrying the load. Mother cultivating her young with the aroma of fresh baked goods and clean line-dried laundry. The country walks where Blue Bells and Queen Anne’s lace grow wild along the road. Drumlins are populated with lush trees as far as the eye can see. The apple harvest is almost here. Farmers anxiously await their bounty this year.
I’ve long since moved away from my childhood home but a constant desire brings me back to the age of innocence, back to replenish my soul where I will forever remain grounded in the trenches of nature’s ways and simpler days. For I know there is no place on earth, no matter how far I roam, that could ever replace my childhood home.
Jodi Cross is a blogger, adventure traveler and marketing strategies. Visit CTtakesoff or follow on Twitter or Instagram.