From, of all books, Thunderhead (the sequel to My Friend Flicka), by Mary O’Hara:
“…if you go away from your own place and people, the place you spent your childhood in, all your life you’ll be sick with homesickness and you’ll never have a home. You can find a better place perhaps, a way of life you like better, but home is gone out of your heart, and you’ll be hunting it all your life long.”
I think this is mostly true but a little bleak. But, since this is the sequel to My Friend Flicka, here’s the speech that follows the one above:
” ‘And so–‘ she had leand to him and slipped her hand in his. ‘Here–this–your hand, is home for me.’ “
Aww…that’s why I love the fiction of my youth. Did I mention there were horses on a ranch in it, too?