A new life for us.

Well, my small break from blogging ended up being a whole lot longer than I had expected.

Even though I had tons to write about, I honestly just didn’t feel like it.

I’m not sure why. I should be jubilant. We’re finally in our new home, and a whole world of possibilities awaits us, but I’m feeling… weird. 😕

Maybe it’s because we still have the old place to deal with, and we have to replace the entire septic system to the tune of about $10,000 before we can sell (which I have NO idea how to even start.)

Or, maybe it’s because we gave up TV, my internet service is spotty, and I’m really, really not used to having a long weekend away from work. Although I should relish the break, I’m feeling seriously disconnected. :(

It could be because we’ve discovered our new pink-rose encrusted bathroom is merely a facade, and it doesn’t work at all. Until we can renovate, I’m resigned to using the basement shower, which is nice – except for the creepy crawly centipedes down there. Yeah. Not cool…not one bit.

It doesn’t help, either, that we missed out on this year’s garden due to trouble with our settlement date, and now it’s nearly fall. All our really big plans for the new homestead won’t start taking shape until the spring…which seems lightyears away.

There are lots of reasons why the past week has left me feeling a little funky. I had no idea where to begin a blog post, because I couldn’t wrap my head around what exactly was bugging me.

But then yesterday, I think I figured it out.

We went back to the old place to tend to the lawn and pick up a load from the garage, and it hit me.

Like a ton of bricks, actually.

An overwhelming sadness for what I was losing. Who knew I’d care AT ALL about leaving that old, raggedy, broke down shack? I hated that place! Truly hated, at times. My husband and I fought over it. We never had people over, because there just wasn’t room. We had spiders galore, I didn’t trust the safety of the heat or electrical systems. The ceiling almost fell in on my head. The kitchen was awful. I could go on and on…

But, when faced with leaving, I remembered. I remembered the first time I went there with my husband-to-be after I hadn’t seen him for nearly 2 decades, and I remembered remembering the love I had for him as a silly teenager.

I remembered the summers we spent there, getting to know each other again, planting the garden and seeing the fruits of our labor, talking about how, someday, we hoped to raise our children to share that same love.

I looked out at the overgrown garden, teeming with weeds and who knows what else, and I remembered the day he proposed to me there, under the trellis filled with purple-flowered yard-long beans.

But most of all, I reminisced about the last time I had seen the little nursery quite that empty. It was when we were getting ready to welcome our son. I sat in there and rocked, dreaming about him, in the same chair I would sit and rock him in for endless hours over the next 2 years, nursing his little self all hours of the day and night.

The first two whole years of his life were spent there. I became a mother there. The most important, life-changing, self-affirming moments of my entire life happened there. My son’s first days, first steps, first words. And yes, my little boy’s love of being out in the garden, plucking the first pear tomatoes and eating berries by the fistful started there, too. He didn’t know it was a rickety old house that his mama was ashamed of. He just knew it was the place where kitties played, birdies sang, fish swam in rain barrels and good things to eat grew abundantly.

We moved further out into the country with very specific intentions, and we look forward to fulfilling our dreams here. But that doesn’t help so much this week, when the isolation is very new, my community seems so very far away, and my memories are locked up in an old, empty mobile home with only a few odds and ends hinting at the new lives that were started there.

As we got ready to leave, my son bolted up the hill toward the garden as he always has, looking for tomatoes to steal. I followed behind, stopping at the blueberry patch on the way. A sweet surprise – the last handful of the season’s berries – waiting for me. I choked back not just tears, but a full-blown sob as I picked them. My little man squealed with delight as he popped them all into his mouth, and I realized that while we planted many seeds at that old place, we get to take the most important ones with us.

Now, back to blogging. Onward and upward!


  1. says

    wendy!!! i know EXACTLY how you feel – i wrote a post very similar to this (minus the whole kid thing) when i moved out of my last apartment, which i also didn’t love. sometimes, it truly isn’t about the physical space at all but rather where the memories are created. hold on to those memories, and i have a feeling everything is going to work out just fine :)

    • admin says

      Hi Holly! You’re so right. And there are lots more memories to be made! We sure are making some now with this massive flood! O.o

      Thanks for stopping by (and for reminding me I need to get over to your blog. I’ve been so busy and I miss reading it! It’s always such a pleasure. :)

  2. says

    You are such a beautiful writer. I know just how you feel (having moved so often in my life). I still miss my home in Virginia. But you’ll take a picture of your little man outside the new house on his first day of kindergarden, and you & your wonderful husband will celebrate many anniversaries in your new home… I know you know this. Sending love!

    • admin says

      Aw, Sonja! It’s so nice of you to drop by my blog. Missing home is never fun, but what other way is there to experience all the other beauty out there, right?

      My baby sends his love back! :)

  3. says

    I was thinking today about how many times I moved early in my adult life. The sad thing was that I lost tract of all of my friends because I was so busy and didn’t take the time to stay in touch. In the end the friends are what’s important – not the building.

    • admin says

      I hate to think how many times I’ve moved! In my 20s, it was probably a dozen! I guess I didn’t get so attached then. Being a mom certainly changed me!

      Your advice is definitely good – staying in touch with friends is the key to everything! I have a few that are far away, but I wouldn’t trade them for the world!

  4. says

    Wow, I was almost in tears reading this. You know what? Sometimes the grass is greener on the other side, and sometimes it isn’t. I hope that in your new home, you create new memories, new relationships, and new moments of love. All things pass in due time.

    I am rooting for you and your family!


    • admin says

      I’m sure we will – it has tons of potential! The biggest plus is that it’s a much better place to raise our son, and that makes it all worth it :)

      Glad to have you stop by!

    • admin says

      Funny, isn’t it? How a dumpy place can hold such a soft spot in your heart. It allowed us to get in a much better position financially, so we owe that old place a lot. I just hope it’s still there! (We are floooooded!)

      Thanks for commenting! :)

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