I live in a small town called Chitina, but my true home is nine miles away at the “property”. It has always been ours. I love to be there because it’s peaceful and there is plenty to do even when you think there’s nothing. When I was younger, I remember playing in our house in the middle of the woods. I didn’t know what I was playing just that I was. The house we had was two stories high and instead of stairs it had a ladder that led to a big room with a window in the corner. I remember looking out that window staring at the tree tops as birds fluttered by. It was a nice house before it burned to the ground. That beautiful building was my home and now it stands almost the same way it did before, but it has stairs. I don’t play anymore like I did when I was younger. I more or less just clean up the yard and try to make forts for the kids. The motor-homes with their busted windows sit still like they’re watching as the world slowly passes its time away. The smoke house is no more what it was meant to be, since a bear knocked it down and it was put back in its place. Instead it’s now used as a tool shed. The cars and trucks that also sit waiting to be hauled off to the crusher are filled with trash and old unused items that no longer have any value. Yet, no matter how much this little bit of property may change, it’s still my home. That house at nine mile will always be my home sweet home.