I just stepped outside into one of those rare, magical moments. The moon is a full, bulbous incandescent disc hanging in the sky. The world is stark and the blacktop road is just damp enough that it reads silver as it slips between the trees.

I’ve come to this page over and over in the last few days hoping that I would be able to write something, share some of the change that is happening but each time I found myself mute, my voice locked behind a lump.

I am not sad. I am actually a little excited to explore the adventure in front of us but I think I had to acknowledge something before I could move. I realized today what that something is.

There will probably never again in my life be another place that holds the same possibilities that this place holds. That’s okay. It’s not even a bad thing. It just is. And even after realizing that the unplumbed possibilities of this place are what I have been unconsciously mourning I am still ready to move on. There are other things like family, friends, and long stretches of sunshine that I value more.

I just wanted to acknowledge that.

So here’s the update.

Our house is not even going to make it to market. Word spread of our decision to sell and we got an offer. While we were drafting a counter-offer another party knocked on our door and left their contact information in case the first deal fell through. We made our counter and it was accepted. Inspection periods and all that stuff are almost over and the only thing left to do is the appraisal. If, knock on wood, that goes well we will close by the end of February, maybe sooner.

We have a spot reserved in a nice RV park about 20 miles away. Then it becomes just a matter of waiting and watching for the right opportunity to head back east. I wonder how many other would-be farmers turned around and headed back east? For us though, heading back east will be just less west. šŸ™‚

I guess that’s it.

For now… <insert intriguing music>


2 thoughts on “Update

  1. East is just a direction. We headed east, from California to Michigan. We had reached a point where, for a number of reasons, the place we loved no longer felt like home. And, back east, I had family who needed me. Pulling up stakes is tough, in part, because as we get older it gets harder to connect with a new community. We’ve been here four years now, and have recently moved into the home we’ve built. We have friends–but not yet like back in California. It’s slow, but building. Mostly we’ve found kindred spirits through common interests…our bee group, my writers group.
    In November I traveled back to California for the funeral of a good friend. It was winter here in Michigan–but I knew that it’d still be warm in Marin and Sonoma Counties. I wondered whether the trip would make me pine for our old haunts. It was a wonderful trip. I was there to support my friends, and connect. But I wasn’t at home.
    Home is where you connect and invest your heart in your relationship to the landscape and community. It was a relief to come home–home to snow and routine and the rhythms of our lives. This thing you’re doing–it’s a transition. And when you find the right place, you’ll know it.

  2. Ken Roberts

    What a terrifyingly wonderful new adventure! I hope you can find peace in knowing that one more place in this world is better because you guys were there.

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