I grew up in a home that sits far off the road. I was surrounded by cousins, aunts and uncles, separated only by a creek that ran through our adjacent properties. It was a homeplace by any stretch of the imagination, and I look back on my childhood fondly. We’d run across the fallen tree limbs, ride our bikes down the winding driveways, and play capture the flag until dusk, when our moms would call us in for dinner.

When I graduated college, got married and settled down with my high school sweetheart to start a family of my own, there was no question where we’d end up. He grew up only three miles from me and felt the same connection and sense of belonging that I did about our sleepy hometown. Still, finding the ideal spot wasn’t easy. We called around for months inquiring if anyone had land they’d be willing to sell. We browsed listings and attended open houses and spent a ton of time online trying to find something, anything that resembled the idyllic countryside that we’d grown up around. We came up short, and through a series of events, we ended up bringing our first baby home to my grandfather’s house, which we rented for three years upon his passing.

It wasn’t where we thought we’d end up, and it definitely wasn’t the spot I dreamed of beginning my life as a new mom. The home was older and creaky, which made it difficult to tiptoe out of the nursery when my sleeping infant would finally go to sleep. The heating went out during the winter and the air conditioner conked out in the heat of the summer, when I was pregnant with our second child. Still, we went to work turning it into our home. We hung thrift store art on the wall and bought secondhand rugs that matched the decor. We moved our new pots and pans into the decades-old kitchen and I learned how to cook on the old-fashioned stove that my grandmother used. It was a sweet time and I’ll savor it forever, but we knew in our hearts it wasn’t home. We still itched to put down roots of our own.

So, when a little brick cottage down the road became available for sale, we jumped on the opportunity. We were still green and optimistic and our children were little. We dreamed of tearing out sheetrock, painting, restoring old columns and adding a sunroom to the tiny space, all with toddling babies underfoot. We set out and worked with a local contractor and did just that. It took two years, but we moved in on Labor Day weekend and I’ll never forget the sense of gratitude and contentment I felt when I woke up in our new master bedroom for the first time.

However, as it tends to do, life had other plans in mind for us. Another family home is now available and we’re contemplating making the short move about two miles away. This new property sits off the road and is surrounded by cornfields, forests and creeks. It feels like the homes we grew up in, and though we thought our current home was our forever spot, we’re now feeling that familiar nudge to try something new, someplace different.

I can’t look around this place without feeling a tinge of nostalgia. When we first moved in, our children were six months and two. Now, they’re two and four. I’ve brought them into that front door so many times, usually with a grocery bag or 10 dangling from my arm. We’ve played in that backyard for three summers now, setting up the old sprinkler and digging a garden in the same spot each time. I know every inch and corner of this home and I’ve made my mark on all of it. Yet, we’re trusting that this is the best move for us and though I’ll linger at the door a little before I close it for the last time, we’re ready to take this next step.

The truth is, home is wherever we’re together. We could relocate just down the road or move overseas and be just as content. Home is their face in the morning when they come teetering down the steps in their pajamas. Home is hearing the coffee maker spurt on at six, before anyone has awoken and the day is still fresh. Home is their faces looking up at me when I tuck them in, and the old porch swing that we sit and talk on when it’s just us and the junebugs on summer nights.

I’ve searched for almost a decade to find the kind of property that will enable my children to grow up like I did. Yet, it’s taken me three moves now to realize that I get to chart my own parenting path. They might not grow up near cousins, but they’ll grow up near soccer fields, playgrounds, and their grandparents just a mile down the road. They’ll grow up surrounded by love and knowing how much they’re adored and cherished. That’s where the heart is, after all.