We moved in just a little over a month ago. For a while I wasn’t sure it was going to happen.
A week after posting about our upcoming move and how excited I was, we got hit by a really bad storm. A tornado we initially thought. Turned out it was “straightline sustained winds at 90mph.” Tomayto, tomahto.
One evening out of nowhere - and I do mean nowhere - the sky got dark and tornado sirens sounded. I huddled with the boys in the basement, assuring them that everything would be fine. Minutes later the storm had passed. We never heard anything, but from the basement window saw hail, and a rain blowing so hard you couldn’t see more than a few inches outside. I went upstairs to make sure all was well. And then I saw it: a huge 50’ maple from our side yard laying right up against the front of our house. It had splintered, the better part of it brushing against our roof, taking out some gutter, and laying in the landscaping. I walked room to room looking out every window and realized that the storm had also ripped up an equally large tree from our neighbor’s yard, plucking it up like a weed and taking two sections of our fence with it.
It could have been so much worse. We were all safe, most important of course, and really there was no major damage to the house (although it truly looked like a war zone in the immediate aftermath). But needless to say it cast a bit of a pall over our last weeks in Virginia. The photo project I had hoped to do as my time there drew to a close, last times in some of my favorite places, and even most of my in-person goodbyes with friends, all falling to the wayside as I struggled just to keep it together. What was supposed to be a month of celebrating our time there and squeezing in all of the “one last…” adventures turned into a stressful month of dealing with insurance and contractors and realtors, trying desperately to resolve every issue and not lose our sale, packing all the while for a move I was terrified wasn’t going to happen.
But - thank goodness - it did happen. Moving day came and we watched our things loaded onto a big truck. We were in Athens by the next day, and our truck arrived a few days later. The days waiting made for the perfect time to explore our new little city, with which I promptly fell in love. They say you can’t go home, but I’m not sure I agree.
Though I was excited to move I really thought I would miss Virginia quite a bit once I got here. I thought I would feel homesick for it the way I did for Georgia when I first moved away. Don’t get me wrong; there are absolutely people I miss - some terribly. I’m grateful every day that FaceTime was already a fixture in our lives. There are a few things and places I miss too. I’ve yet to find a donut as good as those from Paul’s Bakery. And no grocery store can ever, ever compare to Wegmans (currently scouting for Grandma’s Pomodoro sauce on the black market, and if anybody has the recipe for their rosemary olive oil sourdough I’m all ears). Of course I miss my walks to Chatham Manor.
But from the moment we arrived here I’ve felt at home. I remembered how much I love and missed a real Southern accent. How everyone is nice, all of the time. Even when Southerners are being rude it just sounds nice. But most of all I remembered how much I love the air here. I’m not sure I realized that was actually even a thing, but it is. It’s just different. It’s warm and sweet smelling, and a little sticky from humidity. And it just feels like home. I could happily spend hours sitting on the front porch just being in it.
There’s a little white ribbon tied onto a low limb of one of the pine trees across the street, directly in front of our front steps. It’s such a weird and simple thing, but sitting in that Georgia air and watching it dance in the breeze has become my daily mediation. In those moments I feel entirely present and at the same time sort of entranced. And incredibly happy to be home.