In England they just don't name the castles. Our home was named Quilon.
This house, was more than a house. It's where at first I didn't want to live and then later I didn't want to leave.
And it held my favourite garden. The stone patio with the pond, the secret paths, the lavender beds and the tea house.
Yes... you read that last line correctly. I fished a dead hedgehog out of that pond. My mom thought it was a leaf. She touched it, it was wasn't a leaf. She freaked out, came screaming into the house and then I, the child, had to scoop it out with a bucket and throw it away. It scared us all.
I could share so many stories, so many memories from this home. This was the easiest post to write and I got so emotional writing and remembering that house. That house, my bedroom (with the window seat and the most dated curtains ever) in a foreign country that became my country. Oh my heart...it swelled here, found a bigger God here. Quilon holds so much of our family.