Writing 101, Day Eleven: Size Matters | The Daily Post.

I grew up in south-eastern Kentucky right in the middle of the Appalachian mountains.  The house I lived in is the same house I lived in from the day I came home from the hospital to the day I went off to college.  It is a 3 bedroom, one bath house with a moderate living room and a big dine in kitchen.

The kitchen has always been the heart of that house because this is where Mommy spent most of her time.  When people came to visit everyone would gravitate to the kitchen for the endless cups of coffee and usually a bite or two to eat.  There was always food there and Mommy and Daddy made sure you never left hungry.

Mommy and Daddy built this house.  The other girls helped, too.  I was the last addition to the group so I didn’t get to work on the house while it was being built, just loved being there.  It was warm in the winter; cool in the summer, and there was shade after four o’clock in the afternoon during summertime.

A creek, Stinnett Creek, gurgle down below the house.  For a while we had an almost-swinging bridge spanning the creek.  Daddy would usually park across the creek once he was home from the mines and walk across the bridge with his lunch bucket in his hand.  He wore coveralls and you could see where his helmet had been with the lighter patch of skin visible.  No matter what he had for lunch, there would always be something sweet in the lunch box for me.

This is home.