Where the wind blows cold 9 months of the year, shifting snow from one forlorn spot to another under a grey sky, a two story house sits on a large fenced lot. A worn dirt path circles the yard where a German Shepherd patrols the fenceline and the colorful array of seemingly discarded childrens toys. From inside the house the chaos of four young children can be heard over the noises of small town living. Through the large picture window they can be seen playing and laughing with their mother while they dance around the living room. This is where I call home, the house is mine, mortgaged through a bank, the children are mine, they are the centre of my everything, and the dog is mine, my faithful guard and companion. Though not born or raised here in Saskatchewan, Canada, it has become the place I associate with the word 'home' over the last few years. Raised in the Mountains of British Columbia on the edge of the Pacific Ocean, it's been an adjustment, and sometimes I miss the mountains and coast immenesly. What Saskatchewan lacks in mountainous ranges, and ocean vistas, it makes up for with endless winter, scorching summer, and mosquitoes big enough to work for Red Cross. It also has sunsets that wrap around you, thunderstorms that roll in from miles away, piling cloud upon cloud until they build up so high it takes your breath away, and fields of crops blowing dizzy patterns in the prairie wind. You can see all manner of wildlife just a short distance from your home, and people still pull over for a stranger to see if they need help.