When I think of home,

I’ll think of the big, green farm

that I grew up on,

full of pine trees and prairies

and peaceful, trickling creeks.

The little twenty-acre neighborhood

of just my family.

I’ll think of the countless

Tuesday night family dinners

full of shouting and laughing

and screaming kids

and bread flying across the table.

I’ll think of the wild golf cart rides

and the big, elaborate

cities we drew up with chalk

and the wooden skeleton

of my aunt and uncle’s house

that they built in the front field.

I’ll think of my mom’s

famous homemade chicken pot pie

with the hearts carved into the dough

and the incredibly intricate

imaginary worlds

we would think up

in the castle treehouse

my dad built for us

when I was six.

I’ll think of the late evenings

on my grandma’s back porch

and the flooded creek

that we would follow barefoot

through the back prairie

and my mom

running through the backyard

banging pots and pans together

while chasing the chickens

back to their coop.

I’ll think of the swing

hanging from the big maple tree

in my grandma’s backyard

and my grandpa pushing me

higher and higher and higher

until I could touch the leaves.

I’ll think of the little treehouse

that my grandpa built for us

with the missing spindles

because he never actually

finished building it

and that one apple tree

in the orchard

that we would always climb

because those

were the only branches

we could reach.

I’ll think of the tunnels

formed by the snow

in the pine tree forest

that I would lose my sisters in

while playing hide and seek

and the leaf piles

my dad would build for us

by the garden shed

that to us,

were the size

of skyscrapers.

I’ll think of the cakes

we would bake

while sitting on my grandma’s

kitchen counter,

covered in flour and frosting

and those summer days

when my grandma

would park the car

in the middle

of the long blacktop driveway,

open all of the doors,

blast the radio volume,

and make us “street dance”

around the car

to “American Pie”

I’ll think of the place that built

the person I am today,

the place that to me,

is the most magical place

in the world,

and I’ll remember

that no matter

what horrible things

may happen in the future,

I’ll always have a place

that I can call

my home.