Jarretts Cottage - a house or a home?

This is the house we have called home for the past 13 years. Isn't it a magnificent beast? I remember the bubbles of excitement in my tummy, when I saw it for the first time, through a gap in the woods (when the previous occupant was still in place)

It has been a home, where the children have grown up. Moving here I had a 6 year old and a 4 year old, and number 3 was a bump, so they really don't remember anywhere else. So there is no doubt that it is going to be sad to leave.

But living in a Victorian house, of this size, has it's draw backs. It is cold, damp, expensive to heat, and the council tax is high. It has been a privilege to be it's custodian, but now it is time to move on. Today has been spent digging up more of my plants. I'm leaving nothing, as I don't know what they will do when we've gone, but I suspect they will dig up the garden with complete disregard for the bulbs living there.

This is a poem I wrote about this house in 2010. I think it sums it up well.

Home
 
Under the prickly fringe of a tall fragrant pine
Nestles my Victorian home.
Pitted grey and cold, saturated are her walls with
Memories absorbed in stone;
And ghostly occupants, from times long past
Remind me I’m not alone.
Generations of now, greet shadows of then
In a wraithlike yet serene zone
 
A home of comfort and love, it listens
To each silent heart beat
Clutter and comfort fill each dusty corner,
Where spiders care to meet
And as night falls, its aged frame creaks
Groans, an echoing beat
And webs knit invisible feelings of belonging

In a space that is home complete.