Here I am. Up in my father-in-law's tiny "office," in a little farmhouse in Sedro-Woolley, WA. The birds are tweeting outside, the cows, newly separated from their calves are bellowing, "Hey, asshole! You left my baby on the wrong side of the fence," and my husband is huffing up the staircase with our luggage...
Ahhh....
We're home.
There's just something about being here. It makes me want to write. It makes me want to have children. It makes me want to grow things. I truly believe there are right places for people at different times in their lives. I wouldn't have wanted to grow up any place other than Fort Worth. And I'm so very glad I landed in Colorado for my twenties. And now, the Northwest calls to me.
This does not come without some hesitation on my part. I really, and I mean totally, do not like the idea that I would no longer be within reasonable driving distance from my Texas family. And I definitely don't like the idea that I would leave a fully-formed network of friends and colleagues in Denver. But something is right about raising kids in this place. (Not that we have any to raise yet.) Where water and mountains surround us. And the rain falls, but, yes, the sun does shine, despite the gloomy reports you always hear.
We're not doing this tomorrow, mind you. But since I first set foot in this part of the country in December of 2003 -- and on every visit since -- I have known that this is my next home.
Someday.
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