50 THE CEDARVILLE REVIEW But perhaps home for me is more an event than a place. It’s the emotions and sensations I get with snow, and the memories it brings up. It may not matter where I am, because snow is the signal which tells me you’ve been here before. And then come the memories: late night walks in the neighborhood, washing dishes, puzzles, quarantine, and graduation. I can hold them like a snowball packed tightly, a million snowflakes rolled into one. A million memories rolled into one heart. I don’t think home is where the heart is; I think home is in our hearts. We carry it with us, and with us it changes. Growing, melting, shifting, home follows us through all seasons and all places. Every hour, every year, it changes. But that change doesn’t deny stability; it only means that home is a larger place than just four walls. Home crosses state lines, borders, and oceans. Home is tremendous enough to fit perfectly inside our souls and hearts. So even in leaving Minnesota, I won’t truly leave home behind. I will keep it with me, tucked into my backpack and car door. It’ll stay stamped on each of my books, etched into my notebooks, whispered into my wardrobe. And when the next snow comes, I’ll be ready.
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