There’s No Place Like Home

There’s No Place Like Home

Any place has the potential be a home. I currently live in a house with six other girls. This house is a home I won’t live in forever, but I’ll always remember it. I love each and every one of my six housemates dearly —if it weren’t for the six of them, our house wouldn’t be a home. As I welcome them back this week, I urge you to celebrate all of the people that make Kingston more than just a place to live.

Over the years, I’ve lived in many places —calling each of them home at some point in time.

With my mom, we always lived in a house. It wasn’t the structure that made the house feel like a home, it was sharing the space with my mom and little sister. With my dad, things were different. From the trailer to the motels, things were always interesting, but being with him and my younger sister made those places feel like home too. These memories are a constant reminder that a house is not a home without the people who fill it.

Home #1: Bainbridge Island

This is the house I came home to when I was born, as was my sister. This particular home was crafted by my parents with love. While living on Bainbridge, I had a chicken coop in the backyard, with Blue —who laid blue eggs that Martha Stewart would approve of —and Brown —who, as you can guess, laid brown eggs. I had two dogs, a mom and a dad, and little sister who all lived in a marvelous home with an American flag flapping on the porch. This house was a home because of the love that flooded the hallways and the support that filled the air. Later, when my dad moved out, this home became a house again. My mom, my sister, and I moved out soon after and found a new place to call home.

Home #2: The Green House

All I remember about this house was the colour —pistachio green. The street next to ours was called Strawberry Lane, or something along those lines. The Green House was the first house that felt like home for just my mom, my sister, and me.

Home #3: The Beach House, Motels, etc.

These were a series of ever changing homes filled with fun, my dad and my sister. I vividly remember this one. My sister and I were “playing catch” with rocks, big ones, until I picked one up and threw it right at her. The rock hit her face and then fell to the ground, followed by blood from her nose. My dad put me in a room with one of those split doors you could find in a barn, shutting both sides, and turning off the lights. I was left alone in a place that didn’t feel like home.

Home #5: Ruff Ranch  (The Trailer)

I liked the trailer. I didn’t think it was weird, and I didn’t think it was abnormal. This house was a home. I had Goldie the goldfish, watched Malcolm in the Middle, and ate McDonalds for every meal. There were horses, and my dad had to work a lot.

Home #7: Maple

Maple wasn’t a home, but it was. We lived there briefly after the move. My mom, my sister, and I filled the bedrooms of my Nana’s and Grandpa’s home. There was endless love, and that’s what made it home.

Home #9: McCord

We lived here for a very long time. I passed grades two to eleven within these walls. It’s a home I loved, and it loved me back. This is the home I’d reference now when talking about my childhood because it’s where I really grew up.

Home #10: Canoe Lake

Summer camp. Canoe Lake is where I became the person I wanted to be. Although not a house, it sure was a home —whether in the camp or on a trip, it was a home away from home. The people make it what it is, they’re the reason I still go back every summer.

Home #11: Edgewood

Still home to my mom and little sister, Edgewood is where I spend my time when I’m not on Canoe Lake or in Kingston. This house will always be home for so many reasons. My room with slanted ceilings, where a paddle hangs on the wall next to a map of Algonquin Park. I love coming home to this home.

Header Source: Katherine Lidtke

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