Home for me is in Manitoba in a little old house surrounded by fields, but not a farm. Just a little old house on a couple of acres, enough land for a garden to feed our family.
The house is small and a little run down, but full my family and the memories that we have made.
The stories that help me understand the home that I am from are the stories about moving there to be close to my only living grandparents. There are stories about the help from the community and church to buy a home where my parents could raise their family and build a life together. I have stories about hauling wood together to keep warm during the cold winters, and laughing until my sides hurt as we teased each other and competed with the amount of firewood we could carry at one time. There are stories of my day that I would tell my mom as we did dishes together.
At first, I found it hard to think of how my home shaped me. It has been many years since I have lived there, but the more I think beyond the surface, the more I realize how profoundly that home shaped me. Because of growing up there I have a love for all things country and I just can’t help it. I have a love for the sights, sounds, feelings, and smells of the prairies. I value hard work, and family is very important to me. It has shaped my concept of community and shaped what I value in life.
What I am realizing is that those are my values formed by my stories, but not everyone has the same stories. Our homes and stories do shape us and give us different outlooks on life from each other. Perhaps a start to understanding people is to realize that I don’t understand them, and that is ok. I simply need to value them for who they are.