Writing Prompt #6 Describe the perfect home. Make that home come alive; put yourself in your mind in that place. How large or small is it? Where is it located?

I’ve often thought about this very thing, as I believe we all have. I remember playing MASH in grade school with the notebook paper folded to fit over our fingers. What was it called? Chinese something catcher. Anyway, mansion-apartment-shack-house. Of course mansion was the one to shoot for. Back in those days an apartment was out of the realm of our comprehension, and we didn’t know a mansion in Seymour until the Creutzinger monstrosity was built. I could see my dream house clearly, probably pulled straight from Gone With the Wind: a Greek Revival with the two story columns, dark red brick, circular driveway, a Juliette balcony off the master bedroom, swimming pool (mine would have to be indoor, or at least covered with tinted glass to keep me from frying like an egg), stables for my many breeds of horses (at least seven: one for each day of the week), a greenhouse, and the river out back. There would be magnolia trees lining the alleé, a black wrought iron gate with scrolls that would swing back from the monogrammed center to admit you after you cleared entrance via the intercom system. The fences would be curvy brick, except where they were black wood plank. Back then I admittedly never gave much thought to the inside, as I would always be out riding. I’d have a Morton building to ride in when the weather was less than ideal. But obviously you always figure on four or five bedrooms, with an en-suite each for those kind of houses. I’d have those great big tester beds with the sheers or drapes around them. It was all so old-fashioned and romantic. Of course there’d be a wondrous library, with dark wood and a rolling ladder that stretched to the second story. I’d have an enormous carved desk and all leather bound edition books. It wouldn’t be complete without a widows walk for viewing the property. I don’t know where this stately home would be located, probably South Carolina or Georgia.

Yeah, big dreams. It still sounds really nice, but I know I’d never be able to keep up with a sizable house, let alone a barn housing seven horses! I’m too lazy to keep up with one. Eradicating the dog hair around here is a full time job. Of course if I had the means to afford that kind of home, I could likely afford some stable hands to clean stalls and a maid for the house.

Instead, here I am in one of the few homes I’ve ever known, the house I grew up in, the home my grandmother built. I’ve made it my own; I have the yellow kitchen and the solid red front door, and the cozy library. There’s a creek out back, but not big enough to swim in. There are no stables or barns at all anymore, and I have to get out in the rain to open my chain link gate. But it is fully home. I have all the space I need, and Chester has plenty of room to run. Thanks to the fence, I don’t worry about him. I do wish subdivisions hadn’t encroached all around us, and I wish people wouldn’t use Amy Ivey Avenue as a shortcut between Chapman and Boyds Creek— or, in the very least, I wish they’d slow down— but on the whole, I feel fortunate to have this place. It’s home, and it’s filled with things I’ve accumulated from traveling. You won’t find Hobby Lobby knickknacks and filler here. You’ll notice my sweetgrass baskets and worn books, certainly. The pride of the place is obviously my farmhouse table that demands you to notice it right away, set with my pretty paisley placemats and a green bottle of wildflowers. That table hasn’t been here long, compared to many of my other things, but it has seen its share of good memories 😊The brightly painted abstract oil from a local artist hangs against the yellow wall. The hallway is lined with pictures I’ve found in antique shops and various little hole-in-the-wall retailers. There are things I’ve made and things I’ve just collected. My seashells from the seashore and sand collections adorn the top of my chest of drawers, and Scarlett and Rhett are scattered throughout. Mermaids are not confined to just the bathroom, they’re alongside Mardi Gras memorabilia in the library. Quilts draped on many surfaces, both for comfort and decor. Lots of well loved objects from one end to the other, and most of them I can still give you the story or provenance of. It smells of coffee and bacon more often than not, and apple cinnamon candles in the fall. Usually the State of Tennessee flag is rippling in the wind, and if it’s summer I try to have something bright in the planters.

I don’t want to be afraid to spill. I don’t want a “theme”, I am certainly not interested in shiplap or farmhouse white aesthetics. I want to be comfortable, and I want you to be comfortable, too.

Do I wish it was bigger, more impressive? Not really. Could I use new living room furniture? Absolutely. But my ratty leather furniture still serves its purpose and what’s the point? Chester would ruin anything in a few years. If you’re here to judge me on the state of my possessions or how sterile it is, you’re not here as a friend to me. So…sorry about the dog hair, just don’t wear black pants. I’ll let ya borrow a lint roller before you get back on the road. I promise I tried. Or we can just on my porch and crack back a few Ultras and watch the lightning bugs and people driving too fast. The stars and the moon usually put on a pretty worthwhile show if you have a mind to snag a quilt and lay in the middle of the yard on your back, or so I’m told.

Home is where the heart is and the grass is pretty green here, if I do say so myself. That’s why it’s so hard to pry me out of here on the weekends. It’s what home is supposed to be, a cocoon of safety and comfort.

In conclusion, the perfect home is warm, both in ambiance and temperature (unless it’s July, then you might need a sweatshirt 🤣), the perfect home has plenty of cheese and wine and natural light, the perfect home is also home to a dog. ❤️

Love and coziness from Appalachia,

~Amy