Hearth is where the Heart Is (What does home look like through your heart?)

A threshold marker: the moment this goes up, the house shifts from temporary space to true hearth.

Some people spend their entire lives in one place, but that hasn’t been the shape of mine. I grew up mostly in one town, settled and familiar, but once I married into the military life, that pattern changed completely. Moving every couple of years meant that the idea of "home" had to evolve. It was no longer just a house we lived in or a city on a map - it had to become something more internal, something we carried with us.

One of the very first things we do in a new house, once the boxes start getting unpacked, is hang the framed print we always bring with us. It’s a simple thing, a vintage-style poster with a quote from *Dracula* that reads, "Welcome to my home. Come freely, go safely, and leave something of the happiness you bring." That print gets hung near the front door every time. And when it’s finally up on the wall, it feels like a threshold has been crossed. Until that moment, it’s just another house. But when that frame goes up, it signals something else entirely: we’re not just staying here. We’re living here. We’re home.

For me, that frame has become a symbol of something deeper. Of course, home is where you "sleep and keep your stuff" as we like to say. It's also made up of the little rituals and routines that unfold as we settle in: figuring out what light is controlled by which switch, finding the one drawer that always sticks, and starting a new morning rhythm. But underneath all of that is the heart. That’s where the hearth lives. And when I say "hearth," I’m not just talking about a fireplace, though I love the glow of one when I can get it. I mean the emotional center. The anchor point. The place where warmth lives, and where you tend the flames that keep your spirit steady.

Over time, I began to realize that being a hearth witch wasn’t about having a permanent hearth. It was about becoming one.

In this way of living, the outer symbols matter - the frame on the wall, the favorite mug, the well-worn blanket. But they only matter because they reflect something we hold inside. The real magic is what we bring to those objects: the care, the presence, the choice to infuse something ordinary with meaning. Hanging that picture near the door isn’t a ritual in the ceremonial sense. But it’s a deeply meaningful act, one that declares, "We’re here. This is ours. This is home."

And from that intention, everything else begins to grow.

I think of the hearth as the expression of the heart, projected into the spaces we move through. And when I say "spaces," I mean not only physical rooms, but relationships, conversations, even daily choices. The way we speak to those we live with. The way we do things because it makes someone else's load lighter. The way we remember to say "I love you" before hanging up the phone. These things become the warmth and structure of home, far more than drywall and address numbers ever could.

So if you’re reading this and wondering what your own hearth looks like, you’re not alone. Maybe it’s a corner of your kitchen where you light a candle every evening. Maybe it’s the blanket your child won’t fall asleep without. Maybe it’s a well-loved playlist, or a running joke, or a dish you always make when someone’s sick.

What matters is that it comes from your heart - and that it roots you in your life, no matter where you are.