Ah, here we are again. I speak mostly to Northerner’s when I say: how does it feel to be half-thawed? Year after year, around this time, I’m always so surprised to meet myself again - yet she does not come willingly. The more I talk of these things the more I hear, “me too,” or “I’m thankful I’m not alone.” The sirens of winter creep up and grab hold our roots. Much like the trees who, up this way, are only just beginning to bud, spend early spring lifeless and bare like late November… well, they must heal what can’t be seen before even thinking about blooming. Us too.

I live for this moment… this moment right here. I wish I could bring you here, too. Together we would lay, side by side, nestled into this washed up driftwood cluttering the beach of Lake Michigan. Sun kissed we would rest.

My love for coffee first grew in winter. In need of something warming, my college roommate said, “want a cappucino?” At the time I didn’t know lattes from espresso from cappucino, and neither did they, really. A microwaved cup of milk and a little single-serve packet of instant later, we were looking out the snowy window with steam emanating from our cupped hands.

When you haven’t a direction to go… any road will take you there. But humans are inquisitive, and brains like to fill empty space - and this is where standing at a crossroads goes from being a world of opportunity to feeling fearful of choosing the wrong road.

I think I’ll always be the kind of gal who can pick up the concept of home and carry it wherever I find my own two feet… but I say that while still knowing that even those places won’t really feel like home… maybe because home is a concept I learned too late. Home is everywhere I find myself…. while simultaneously being nowhere at all.

The hum of the campground is never the same. Despite the occasional few who would stay longer than 1-2 days, the sites to our left changed over like a laundromat of tourists. Some were quiet, mousey, read books or slept in their hammocks. There were people with elaborate cookouts and others who lived off of snacks or restaurant food. Some groups held roaring fires with shared drinks and menageries of conversation till the wee hours of the morning. Some had babies or young children, sometimes one and sometimes a small school, others had grumpy teens upset over lack of internet and signal (and some had adventurer spirits).

I first moved to Marquette in 2013. Nervous, anxious, ready for college while simultaneously being completely not ready… my dad says, “It’s a gift to feel scared. You only get to feel this a handful of times in your life.”

This holds true.

Marquette taught me many things - it taught me the definition of a home, the humble nature of feeling small in a forest, that all dark winters have beautiful springs, and the ever important art of how to love the little things. It taught me friendship, community, and togetherness.