From the managing editor, December 2015

My parents live in the same blue house in Iowa that they brought me home to as a baby, the same blue house where they’ve lived nearly all of their 43 years of marriage. Though more than a decade has passed since I moved out, I know that house like the back of my hand—which steps creak, where to warm up my toes with a blast of heat, how to negotiate the idiosyncrasies of the old claw-foot tub turned shower. 

My dad would gladly give up the bone-chilling Midwestern winters. But for my mom, that house is home. A few years ago, they added a master bedroom suite to the first floor, in part to safeguard against a future when stairs may not be a possibility. Her attachment to place comes as no surprise: My grandfather was born in the farmhouse where she grew up and where we grandkids eventually played hide-and-seek and Chinese checkers. Two decades later, Mom can’t shake the sting of watching her own mother be dragged away when Grandma’s diminished health required round-the-clock nursing care.

My husband and I, on the other hand, have lived six places in the eight-and-a-half years we’ve been married. Picking our next home has been a largely practical pursuit, based on what we needed in that moment: commute times, square footage, storage space. When we bought our house in West Asheville, it was the first time we’ve really talked about a place in terms of how it could evolve along with our lives over the years. We hope the house will serve us for many years to come, but we still tend to resist attaching permanence to place.

That’s not to say I don’t nest and hunker down for the holidays with the best of them. Wherever I find myself on Christmas morning, certain traditions trump geography. Likewise, this issue celebrates the many incarnations that “home for the holidays” can take on here in the mountains—whether crowding together with loved ones in a sprawling family farmstead or cozying up in a tiny, custom-built, portable house.

Indeed, this time of year we flock to hearths both familiar and novel, craving a sense of warmth and comfort. We gather with friends and family to toast the season with wassail and fruitcake. We explore historic landmarks by candlelight, retracing the footsteps of those who came before. We retreat to historic inns and new resorts for a break from routine and a dose of family bonding.

Sometimes those gatherings can be anything but a Norman Rockwell painting, as the storytellers and writers who share their personal tales in these pages can attest. Because whether the holidays bring pain or joy, there’s nothing quite like family dynamics to rouse strong emotions. 

I’m lucky: I’ve never lacked for a home in which to celebrate the holidays. Better yet, I’ve found a partner who feels like home, ensuring my joy never gets tied up in a physical location. So no matter where this season takes you, here’s hoping you find that same lightness of heart.

— Katie Knorovsky, managing editor