We live in the PNW. I wasn’t born here, and I can always tell a difference. We moved here just before my 6th grade year, the last year of elementary. It took my family over 10 years to be considered locals, and even then there are some who would still call us new-comers. There is a history to this place, to our little town. It runs generations deep.The wet, the mud, and the trees run deeper. I’ve spent a lot of my life moving. I’ve lived in 3 countries (4 if you count Alaska as a different country, which some Alaskans do), and over 10 states. Don’t even ask me how many houses I have lived in. I can’t even begin to fathom. In 2 states I lived in completely opposite sides, so far apart they may as well been a whole other state.
I have a history of moving. When I was a child, we moved a lot. At least up until my parents divorced. During that time, the longest we lived in one place was 11 months. With my Mom, things were different, but we still moved several times. The house I live in now, with my Master, and what’s left of our brood, is the longest I’ve ever lived in any house in my life. Six years. Six years in the same room, with the same yard, the same neighborhood and jobs. I’ve spent a lot of time here making and building on goals our space. I get them get fulfilled just in time to make more. And I’m not done. I see a lot of unfinished goals around me. Especially on a day like today, where I am out in my beautiful yard enjoying the sunshine.
My hubby never moved until he met me. As a child, he grew up in the same neighborhood his entire life. He was itching to leave as soon as our wedding ceremony ended. Since then, I’ve followed him many places and never looked back. We’ve gotten a lot of flack from family and friends for moving. Gypsies, they call us. But we never regretted any of it. Not that we haven’t had failures. We’ve had some doozies, don’t get me wrong. We have risked it big, and fallen hard. But with time all that ever rose to the surface was the joy of it, the new experiences we had, the memories built together.
We are looking at moving again. But it is harder this time. It is a harder decision to make. We have so much more here. This is the first house we actually bought. And we bought it as recession prices, so I’m sure you can imagine the huge amount of equity we have in it now. This is a double edged sword, you only bank on that increased cash value if you sell the house, but then you still have to buy another house, so the money just goes into it.
The real fear and risk of loss here is our relationship with the PNW. It is part of us, the huge trees, the long summer days, the vast amount of wild flowers, mountains, and bird songs. I open my window every year in March, and leave it open until October, just so the birds will wake me every morning. My back yard is over an acre of natural forest. I have chickens that I love, giant gardens, fir trees that are 40+ years old, and a wild trail that winds around and through it all. I still have plans and goals for spaces in this yard. I love this yard. We bought this place for the yard, the house was just attached, so we took it too.
But we always knew it would be hard to leave in the spring. It is so beautiful, and smells so lovely. Next October, when we are starved for light, and feel trapped inside a cardboard box it will be a different story. That is when I crave the desert heat and the sun the most.
My sister says summer looks good on me. It does. I get serious SADDs in the winters here. I feel the weight of the clouds on me like sack of flour, blocking out the day all together. I have to get my blood tested every 3 months for vitamin D, and currently take 100,000 mg a week, amongst other things (with doctor observation).
I come alive when summer hits. I feel like myself. I feel active and fit. I can’t get enough of the world. I am happier, happy down to my soul. I think this need for sun is what makes me crave the desert so much.
Southern California is where we found jobs. It is the high desert. New Mexico or Arizona is where I’d really like to be, but they literally crap on my profession down there, so I won’t be going. At our new jobs I would have my dream position – teaching ceramics. I love ceramics. I got my bachelor’s degree in art, and each art form I gave up is like a long lost love to me. I miss them like I gave away a piece of my soul. I want to teach ceramics so bad. I want the sun. I want the desert.
But how to I give up this place?
p.s. That photo is a sliver of my backyard, with the smaller of two coops. I lost those chickens to raccoons last winter. Still sad about that.