As a refresher, Dorothy’s home in the Wizard of Oz is a small, wood-framed house with white clapboard siding, a well-worn porch, and a plain interior, the standard for rural life in the Midwest during the early 1900’s. The film’s opening scenes, which are shot in sepia tone, show the farmhouse surrounded by a flat, dusty, quiet landscape under an endless Kansas sky. This home is clearly worn with its peeling paint and missing fence posts, but it is unmistakably home. Suddenly, the sky takes on a strange, yellow-gray tint, the light fading into an eerie half-darkness. Dust whips across the parched farmland, rattling fences and flinging loose shingles from rooftops. The air feels charged and restless — a stillness before the storm that makes every animal uneasy. Chickens flap wildly, horses whinny, and the windmill creaks as the gusts grow more violent.

Inside the Gale farmhouse, objects begin to tremble — pots rattle on their hooks, curtains billow, and the house groans as if it’s alive. Aunt Em and Uncle Henry rush to the storm cellar while Dorothy, desperately searching for Toto, is caught in the rising chaos. After the tornado hits, the house is swept up into the sky and eventually crash-lands in the colorful Land of Oz — famously landing right on top of the Wicked Witch of the East. And just like that, ding-dong the Wicked Witch is dead. An image of hope.

When Dorothy steps outside the front door, the film shifts from sepia to brilliant Technicolor, symbolizing her transition from the ordinary world to the magical one. The house itself reappears throughout the movie as representation of safety and the emotional anchor that reminds her where she truly belongs. Dorothy may have dreamed of faraway places and dazzling adventures, but when the whirlwind finally stopped, she desperately finds herself missing home.

In real estate, that feeling never changes. Whether it’s your first condo, a family home filled with laughter, or a quiet space to start a new chapter, there really is no place like home. It’s more than a structure; it’s a reflection of who we are, a place where comfort and belonging take root. Home is where the whirlwind settles. It’s the place that steadies us when life spins fast and the colors change from sepia to technicolor.

The same way Dorothy’s ruby slippers carried her back to what was familiar, our homes anchor us — even when the world around us feels like Oz: colorful, chaotic, and full of annoying flying monkeys that shouldn’t even exist. Home is where the tornado drops us after life’s latest plot twist. It’s where we find comfort in the familiar — the creak of that one floorboard, the couch that’s seen better days, and the morning paper that somehow makes every morning slightly more survivable.

Sure, the world outside might promise emerald cities and magic men behind curtains, but let’s be honest, the real magic (besides Dorothy’s home surviving in one piece despite the tornado), is finding your own slippers under a pile of laundry and realizing you’ve already got everything you need to get through the storm. Because in the end, “there’s no place like home” isn’t just about clicking your heels, it’s about remembering that the ordinary stuff, the messy stuff, the stuff that doesn’t sparkle, that’s where the good stuff actually lives.

When it’s time to sell, though, all that ordinary, messy magic — the mismatched mugs, the scuffed floors, the lived-in comfort — has to be tucked neatly into boxes in the garage. It’s not that those things aren’t wonderful; it’s just that someone else needs to be able to imagine their version of home here. So, out come the sparkly shoes again. We shine the floors, fluff the pillows, and pretend our house always smells faintly of vanilla and never of takeout. It’s a bit of theater, sure — but it’s also a way of passing the dream along.

Because once upon a time, this house was our Emerald City. And now, it’s someone else’s turn to click their heels, open the door, and say, “There’s no place like home.”

Jen Fischer is an associate broker and Realtor. She can be reached at 801-645-2134 or jen@jen-fischer.com.