One year, one weenie, and a county that took me in

This week, Winnie and I made our annual pilgrimage to the vet in town. You know the routine: smiles, treats, betrayal. Winnie has spent the last few days deeply offended by her updated shots, while I have been informed, through dramatic sighs and side-eye from her, that this was entirely my fault.

Our recovery plan has involved Christmas decorating and extreme lounging. Mostly for Winnie. While she has been roasting herself in front of the fireplace like a gas-station hot dog that’s been on the roller too long, I’ve been hanging stockings, one for me, one for the ween, and stringing lights while my body reminds me I have also made questionable choices lately.

Sore, you ask? Well, I just wrapped up week four of a new gym program. Don’t worry, I won’t turn this into a fitness column, but the soreness did get me thinking, mostly because plugging in Christmas lights suddenly felt like an athletic event.

On Monday, Dec. 15, I marked one full year of living in my house. One full, beautiful year of calling Lincoln County home.

In this past year, I’ve gained more than an address. I’ve gained friends who feel like family, long nights at city council and early mornings at county commissioner meetings, countless sporting events, and a collection of unbecoming and hilarious Army shenanigans. 

I’ve logged endless gym sessions, written stories that mattered, taken Winnie just about everywhere she’s allowed and not allowed, and been recognized more often as “Winnie’s mom” than by my own name.

I’ll take it.

Many people here have lived in Lincoln County their entire lives. Others grew up here, moved away, and carry a deep longing to return. As someone who is 23 and fairly well-traveled, I can say without hesitation that this place has become one of the most meaningful homes I’ve ever known.

Home, I’ve learned, isn’t always where you grew up. Sometimes it’s where you’re allowed to grow.

I moved here one week after graduating college, into my own house, into big shoes, and into a role that mattered. I fell in love here. I had my heart broken here. I learned how to navigate adulthood here, often clumsily. Somewhere between grocery store runs, coffee shop conversations, and Winnie becoming a familiar furry face, Lincoln County became the place where I felt everything.

And I never felt like an outsider.

While this newspaper belongs to Free Press Publishing, it also belongs to you, the people of Lincoln County. Your stories, your concerns, and your deep pride in this place are what give it life. Without your trust, your patience, and your kindness, I couldn’t do this job.

To the families in Davenport, Harrington, Reardan, Odessa, Wilbur, Creston, Edwall, and Sprague; to the postal workers, courthouse staff, coaches, volunteers, and everyone who stops to talk or offer advice, I feel your support more than you know.

Thank you for welcoming me, for trusting me, and for letting me call this place home. I look forward to another year as your editor in camo, still figuring out adulthood, still listening closely, and still doing my best to serve the county that took me in.