I grew up in the same house, on the same street, in the same bedroom.

At the time, it didn’t feel remarkable. It was just life. But now, when I think about what “home” really means, I can see how deeply those years shaped me.

Home is foggy beach days, when the sun barely peeks through, and yet you’re just happy to be breathing in the salty air. It’s lobster feasts in the backyard with friends that feel like family, familiarity with your neighbours, and not being able to make a quick grocery run without bumping into someone you know.

I didn’t realize how special that was until I left for school. I found myself trying to explain to new friends where I was from and what made it different. The more I talked about it, the more it dawned on me how lucky I was to call this place home.

I remember the pride I felt when someone “from away” decided to visit. There’s a quiet joy in seeing your home through someone else’s eyes. Suddenly, you notice the rugged coastline, the colourful houses, and the way the ocean air seems to slow your thoughts. I embraced my inner tour guide, eager to show off the best of my province. From coastal drives to hidden beaches to local seafood spots, I wanted them to love it as much as I do.

Now, years later, the Maritimes isn’t just where I grew up. It’s the place I’ve chosen. It’s where I want to plant roots, build a life, and share the beauty of this corner of the world with others.

There’s something about the Maritimes that stays with you no matter where you go. And for me, it will always be home.