We spent the weekend putting up fence at Four Oaks, aka Oaklette; Grandaddy’s house; and a variety of other names. I call it home. When I put my bare feet into the grass there, I feel connected to it in a way that is difficult to explain. It is where I grew up. It’s where my father’s parents lived and died. It is the place where every one of the four kids I gave birth to lived out their babyhoods. I did, too. And my brother and sister and father as well. It is where I feel rooted. My niece lives on the other side of the marsh, just over the covered bridge. My cousin lives, next door, sort of. My dad is just a few minutes walk away. The shipyard is a 5 minute drive in heavy traffic. Ah. Home. Just a few more weeks and we will be there.