ancestral home

Julie put out the call for interested writers to share about their homes, and I couldn’t resist jumping on board. My journey to our home actually started in our home as it’s the home I grew up in. As a little girl, the fourth of five kids, I remember thinking that I never wanted to live anywhere else, that this was the safest and most beautiful place on earth. As I grew up, that fervor cooled and I enjoyed living in Minneapolis for college, Ann Arbor for law school, and Las Vegas for a federal clerkship. But it came back as my fiancé and I discussed where we would sit for the Bar, and where we wanted to raise our kids. I was pregnant with our first when we bought the house from my parents, and when we moved in, I was largely pregnant with little extra energy to do much nesting or settling in, or making it our own. That process has taken now almost 6 years. Slowly but surely, wallpaper removed here, painting done there, a new light fixture in this room, and this room and this room, a new chair, a few new beds. As a grownup, I still feel the comfort of safety in the house. Despite being old (101!) and large and dark at night, I can still make my way around in the absolute pitch dark, knowing all the creaks in the floorboards and all the funny noises that emanate from the furnace room…