Home Sweet Home

There's nothing like a trek to the mother land to secure your sense of self and renew your spirits. At least that's how I feel every time I return to my hometown. It's not quite a mother land like if I was returning to another country after years of being away, but sometimes such strong feelings for a place, like home, require a dramatic description.

Bickleton, my small and isolated hometown, is full of many things dear to my heart. People, certain places like Pine Creek, the grove of trees below our house where I used to play, and the timber where my dad logged for so many years, my dogs, and a thousand memories of a childhood filled with endless hours spent playing and exploring the expanse of land and trees and creeks that is only offered to us lucky rural dwellers. There is freedom in those open fields and skies, canyons, timber, and waters. Freedom that encourages creativity, strength, and knowledge in a young persons mind.

I get a little nostalgic when I think about my hometown, obviously. I get a little defensive whenever I hear someone put down a small town, speak ignorantly about the people from a small town, or in some other way make assumptions and false statements about anything having to do with rural America. One look at me and you may not think I am from a small town. You may never guess that I graduated in a class of only nine students, or that I come from two prominent families that farmed and ranched in the north eastern area of Klickitat county. You may never know, unless you asked, that I showed steers for nine years as a 4-H member. Or that I played on the varsity volleyball and basketball teams as a seventh grader because the high school numbers were down that year.

Do I look "small town"? From the surprised looks I get when I tell people where I am from, I would guess not. But did I learn significant values such as hard work, respect, humility, and honesty, to name a few, from growing up in a small town? Absolutely. Not that you can't learn these values elsewhere or from a different form of being raised, but I do thank God for the blessing of growing up in a small town.

All of that being said, I recently went home for a weekend and loved it. It probably had a lot to do with me taking a certain special someone home with me for the first time. That special someone also met my parents for the first time. Yes, it was the man.

They loved him. He loved them. He loves Bickleton.

HALLELUJAH!!!!

Excuse me while I breathe a big sigh of relief. Not that I was worried. I really wasn't at all. But there is something very special about the relationship between the person I want to be with and my family. There is a huge part of my heart reserved for my family and I want the love of my life to have a place in his heart for them too. And also...for my dogs and my hometown and my extended family. Of course.

And I truly do believe he is the man that is capable and willing to love every bit of my life as I do. And yes, people, that deserves a big sigh of relief and a big smile for finally finding someone to share all of that with.

I've never felt more at home in my hometown, surrounded by my family and loved ones, with the man that holds my heart. It was a great weekend indeed.

And now that I've exceeded the mushy-gushyness level allowed per blog post as previously set by my single self, I will end with this thought:

If home is where your heart is, my home dwells in a number of people and places. Bickleton, my true hometown. My crazy, silly, loving family. My truest and best friends. My dog, Sadie, and all family dogs, past and present. My grandparents house and the trees and barns that I spent a childhood playing in. My second hometown, Pullman. And most recently, my Mountain Man.

Home is most definitely a sweet place to be.