Our home is not perfect, nor is it even finished. It’s a creative work-in-progress. But, it’s where we sleep at night. When my head hits the pillow I sleep in peace knowing that my children are safe and I can hear their deep, sleepy breaths. It’s where my children have spent the majority of their lives and where my husband grew up. It’s hearing my kids playing upstairs, jumping on the beds and just being kids – no peer pressure, no bad attitudes filtering in from unknown friends. It’s where we school and where we play. It’s where we bake masterful creations and watch our favorite movies in our pj’s.

It’s where I can hear the katydids serenading us in the summer and watch the fireflies play hide-and-go seek in the shadows at dusk.  It’s where our dogs and cats are buried under the pecan tree down by the tank. I can watch the leaves of the elm tree dance and twirl in the air when autumn winds break them free of the tree limbs. It’s our winter wonderland in those rare but wonderful, icy winters when the pyracantha’s bright red berries blazenly show their glory amidst the whiteness of the snow. Home is where the blueblonnets show off their spring colors in the field across the creek. It’s where James’ beehives are nestled down by the garden and his bees gather pollen from the wildflowers and garden blooms during summer.

Our home is home to many creatures – from the crazy chickens to our favorite turkey, Turkey Tom, and the guineas who roam wild and free, charging ours cars and screeching their aggravation. It’s where the beavers live in the tank and the only place I’ve ever known where cats, dogs, chickens, guineas, turkeys, beavers, foxes and skunks all get along (seriously).

This is our home … perfect in its imperfection. I wouldn’t trade it for any other place on earth.

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