This week my childhood home went on the market. I've known it was coming, but it still makes me really sad. The house and its plot of rural land were where I lived as a kid and have retreated as an adult.
My parents build our post-and-beam house when I was five years old, which—full disclosure—was 25 years ago. As a kid, I climbed on piles of house-building rubble and squirmed between the framing 2x4s. To this day, the smell of sawdust reminds me of home.
I don't want to get too sappy about specific memories from the house I grew up in. I did realize, though, as my parents were preparing it for listing, that I look at this box of wood and glass as almost a part of my family.
Have you had a similar experience saying goodbye to a home?