A place you can see the stars

When I was a little girl, my dad and I used to go out back of our house, and lay on the ground. This was a place where you could see the stars.

It was quite and beautiful.

It was home.

As I grew up, my home changed from a college dorm room, to a teeny tiny apartment, to our first home after we married. None of which I could have called home. These were houses. Places that we stayed.

But not my home.

In the 8 years that Jon and I have been married, I have struggled with calling our houses, our home. They all just feel temporary.

My home...or least my dream of my home...would be away from the city, away from the hustle and bustle, away from the noise. A place with acres and acres of land. A place where you could go to sleep to crickets. A place where our children could run, and play, and build tree houses, and forts, and maybe even rock cities. A place where you could smell the grass and the dew on a cool April morning.

My home will be a place where you can see the stars.


and so...


I love finding good blogs. I found this one a while back and have been following her religiously since.

This is her story. This is almost our story.

Thistlewood Farm


We found it. We just have to find the courage to jump.