urbanites, transplanted

If you asked six months ago, we’d probably have said that we’d never leave the city.

Sure, we loved the lake. We’d spent a week of our honeymoon there. We’d purchased a wooded acre on a hill on its outskirts early in our marriage, and dreamed about eventually building a home. My parents bought a lot there, camped at the campground, first in a tent and then a trailer, and eventually built a home where they relocated year-round after retirement.

Still, our roots in the city ran deep. We were deeply invested in our church, and I loved my job there. My husband was treasurer at the Coffee House, and active in the local folk music community. We slept easily through sirens, airplane traffic, and the flow of Harleys to and from the nearby biker bar. At our most recent address, we relished the dueling carillons between the stately Catholic church across the street and the nearly as imposing Missouri Synod Lutheran Church in the next block.

But then the couple up the hill from my parents put their home on the market. My husband pointed out that Mom and Dad could use some more help, and he thought his employer would probably let him work from home. It didn’t take too many meetings for management to agree to his proposal. And in a matter of months, we were packing and filing address changes.

Now, after several hundred-year-old bungalows, we’re living in a very contemporary house—and feeling right at home, thank you very much. The closest town is tiny and 4 miles away; the next larger town, all 9,500 residents strong, is another 8 miles further. Grocery inventories are sparser here, of course, but the stars are flung across the sky every night in wild extravagance. Traffic isn't a concern, unless you find yourself stuck behind farm equipment or the occasional Amish buggy, but deer and raccoons may venture onto the roads particularly after dark. And when inspiration flags, my eyes are drawn to the woods behind our home, or the rolling hills and lake in the distance. Even now, in that bleak pause between autumn and snow, there is much to appreciate.

I think we're going to like it here.