Home is Where the Heart is.

Dear Diary,

Twenty years ago today I bought my little farmhouse in Maine.  It is hard to believe it has been that long.  I also realized that I have never lived so long in one place.  Even my childhood home was only "home" for 18 years so this is a record.  My friend Dotty has lived in her home all her life, 94 years.  And it has been in here family since 1800.  That kind of "stay putness" is really quite rare.

My house was built in 1851 by Isaiah Fly, the father of the man whose grave I visited awhile back.  The property, nearly 5 acres, was never meant to be a working farm and the little barn had space for only a small carriage and horse.  It had an outhouse when I first moved in and gas lighting.  Its two end chimneys were meant for stoves not fireplaces.

My little house was in much need of extensive repairs when I bought it but now it is a cozy sanctuary that fits me just right.  Well, it has always felt "just right" but now it is beginning to feel a bit too much to care for.  Strange how that happens.  I seem drawn to the idea of downsizing lately but selling this place would be difficult.  It would be like parting with an old and much loved friend.  So for now at least I will be content to "stay put".


Where we love is home - home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts. - Oliver Wendell Holmes