Where my family is

What home means to me
To me home is where my family is, I’m lucky enough for that home to also be in Tassie. 

My Dad is one of 11 kids and growing up, there was always family around. We lived in a small country town, next door was my Nan and Pop and scattered around were aunties, uncles and many, many cousins.

It is our family land, my Pop always wanted it to be kept in the family.  My Dad feels just as strongly about it and he still calls it home after 63 years.  It is beautiful land with wonderful mountain views.
There was a time when I didn’t appreciate what I had in Tassie and ventured to Queensland.  After three months I’d found a great job and was living in a beautiful old Queenslander with two of my closest friends, but something was missing.
It was time to go home.
Coming home was joyfull, people say it is often and I know it to be true for me, you don’t know what you have until it’s gone. 
I was back to the familiarity of my family home, a home where I had so much history.  Helping Mum and Dad renovate, learning to cook, learning to drive, handing tools to my Dad when he was working on cars.  We spent so much time together, Mum and Dad taught me so much and believed in my ability to do whatever I wanted.  I was expected to be respectful, but at the same time, allowed to be my own person with my own opinions. 
Being home makes me feel safe, happy, loved.
Last week was One Girl’s response to guest blogger, Russell Kelly’s post – Going home: 6 signs my heart was telling me to come home to Hobart. This week is the Other Girl's response.

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