It's packing time again, loading a truck and heading toward a new home. Just a few months after we married, Andrew and I packed all of our belongings, and with the help of my mother and Irby, we filled a large Penske truck, hooked our Jeep to the back, and headed West. We were heading toward Washington, yes, and graduate school, yes, but more than that, we were heading toward the future; we packed a truck and headed toward possibility.
It took us a little over four days with many, many stops along the way for photos and picnics and roadside attractions (I'm a sucker for a souvenir pencil). We were excited and scared and so, so nervous, but we had each other, and a good music, and of course, coffee.
I underestimated the impact of a cross-country move, and that first half day in Bellingham, as we unloaded the truck in a city where we didn't know anyone, into an apartment we'd never seen before, I called my mother in tears. It's been about four years since that day, four challenging, educational years, but now every time I leave and return to this city, I feel relived - and comforted. There aren't any more tears, except those of appreciation: for the trees, for the air, for the people, for our home - for this city of subdued excitement.