Where my heart is

Aside from celebrating the Carpenter's first coming to our earth, my favorite thing about Christmas is being home.

I like being home.

I like hiking through our pacific northwest forest and chopping our tree down. I like laying in front of the wood-burning fireplace and reading Oswald Chambers. I like waking up and passing gifts into the open hands of my sisters + my brother. I like knitting with my mother. I like shooting pop cans down in the backyard and working in the shop with my dad. I like sharing tea at the table. I like the big Italian meal. I like the candles burning each night. I like the hidden stashes of chocolate. I like the cold nip in the air even when we don't get snow, because our noses get red anyway. I like the old books, everywhere, piled in piles that I may never find possible of accumulating for many more years to come. I like the china cabinet, just the fact that there is a china cabinet. I like my hens. I like the stain all over my hands because that is the one place I break the rules, I stain without gloves. I like our trees. I like the mountains.
I like it here.
I didn't used to, but now I do. This place grew into me, the marrow of my bones. And maybe it's just the people here and my family here and everyone here or maybe this is just a season that will be over in a year or so, but I'll admit it. I like the familiar. I like my hometown. I like my home. Call me a fool for the years I wasted griping when I could have been loving, but the solid truth of the matter is, hearts are fickle and mine is utterly so.
This place is where I've made my best discoveries.
And while it's true that I'm off having adventures elsewhere now, it is also true that I always want to come home for the holidays.

I am just a small person. I always will be.