Our backyard, looking out over a Georgian Bay sunset

Home. That word automatically transports me East to Ontario, to a small rural community three hours North, North-West of Toronto. Home takes me to the physical house that I was lucky enough to be born and raised in (well, not actually born in, but you know what I mean). Home is waking up in my bedroom, sleepily finding my way across the hallway to my sisters room, and waking her up only to talk about all of the delicious food we are going to eat that day.

Home has always been the calm in the centre of my hectic yet amusing life. Starting in grade 7, I was often away for up to a month at a time to travel to ski competitions around North America. At the end of the trips was always the enjoyment of returning home, thrilled to not live out of suitcase and actually have ample clean clothing (thanks to my Mother’s amazing laundry skills). As I mentioned in me previous blog posts, I have lived a bit of a gypsy traveling life since graduating high school. The only constant throughout that time was the idea of home. I knew my parents would always be there, and I could always get a piece of home by dialling the familiar phone number engrained in my head – no matter where in the world I found myself.

Perhaps if I had moved around as a child the idea of home would not be so concrete in my head. I have lived in Vancouver for three years now, yet I still do not consider it home. At Christmas, I always say I am going “home”. And after the holidays, it is always “back to school”. As time passes, yes I get more and more comfortable with this city, and enjoy the opportunities that school presents, but I continuously see an end point to my time here. In my mind, there is always the time that I will return home. Unless, of course, I somehow find a wonderful, high paying job after (hopefully) graduating with an Arts degree and can somehow continue to afford living in this beautiful, yet painfully expensive city.

The always photogenic Vancouver, my home away from home

The best Vancouver family a girl could ask for

I have such a tie to the association of my physical house being my home, that I think it will always be home in some sense. Inevitably, my parents will one day downsize to a smaller house, as having room more six is no longer very applicable. When this happens, I I feel that home will change in the sense that home will become my house of the past, and home will become wherever my parents are. I guess that’s more the point – home is where my parents are. Home is where I am lucky enough to know I will always be welcomed with open arms, a bed to sleep in, and food on the table. Hence the name of this blog – there is ALWAYS a full fridge at home, stuffed full of the most delectable food and wine. Compared to my student fridge of hot sauce and pickles, a full fridge is a divine luxury upon returning home.

In addition, home always brings the sense of reuniting with family. As my brothers and sister and I are spread between Vancouver, New York, Halifax, and Dublin, that small town in rural Southern Ontario has transformed from the everyday norm, to a place where we get to see one another after months apart. Last summer the four kids overlapped time at home for a total of 36 hours – just long enough to ring in our Mom’s 60th birthday before jetting off to different parts of the world again. I believe all of us have this sense of home now, that it is a place to touch down, collect ourselves, visit, share, and laugh before parting ways again.

The “touchdown” visit for our Mom’s birthday celebrations – from the left, my siblings Andrew, Kyle, and Reba

Everyone has a different perspective of what home means to them. I realize that I am very lucky to have a concrete idea of home, as many individuals never get the opportunity to know exactly what home is. Undoubtedly, my idea of home will shift and alter as I grow. If I have a family of my own one day, that will become home, and I hope that I can allow my children to establish the sense of comfort, safety, and excitement that I still get with the idea of going home.

My wonderful parents, who have always made our house a home

Thank you for reading, and I look forward to learning of everyone’s different stories of what home means to you.