Grandpa’s Kitchen

Some of my favorite memories come from my grandpa’s kitchen. It wasn’t fancy, but it always felt alive. There was usually a jar of fresh honey sitting on the counter, biscuits on the table, and cornbread ready at all times. The fridge held leftovers we’d actually eat, and the windowsill had little jars of herbs he’d picked from the garden.

I didn’t realize it then, but he was quietly teaching me what it meant to make a home. He showed me that food is love… biscuits, honey from the hives, or a slice of cornbread shared with whoever walked through the door. He showed me the beauty of not wasting, of using what’s already on hand. And he showed me that the best homes aren’t about how they look, but about the warmth and welcome inside.

Now, in my own little apartment, I carry those lessons with me. Home isn’t something you wait for; it’s something you make, right where you are.