in my mind I'm going to Carolina

"in my mind, I'm going to Carolina
Can't you see the sunshine?
Can't you just feel the moonshine? 
Ain't it just like a friend of mine to hit me from behind?
And I'm going to Carolina in my mind"
-James Taylor

Homes are a funny thing. One second you’re sitting in your carefully decorated and cozy home and the next second you’re on the couch watching everything you’ve thoughtfully put together taken down and packed up. You’re suddenly surrounded by bare walls and no trace of you left behind. Surreal. And just like that, we’re moving. Our time in North Carolina has been filled with so much. This was our first home together. We created our haven here. We created rhythms and routines here. We established a thousand tiny things that kept us functioning, thriving, and staying together as a family. It’ll be bittersweet to say goodbye. I’m eager for the next place we live, and the next place, and the next place. But in that same vein, I’m also deeply longing to plant roots that stretch deep. Deeper than our six months here. Deeper than the next six months, and the two years following that. I’m also learning not to forsake each season and trying to avoid the temptation to wistfully look at my life and constantly think the best is yet to come. While it’s a wonderful sentiment, I feel that it can breed discontentment if not properly framed. Yes, the best is yet to come. But also? The best is now. The best memories, the best experiences, the best moments aren’t held in some future that is constantly out of reach. It’s now. And so we live in that tension—expectant for what’s to come and utterly at peace with where we are. 

So as I sit here in our backyard, sun bathing in the temperate southern spring that humidity has yet to touch and typing away, I can’t help but think of all the things I’ll miss. 

I’ll miss the massive southern magnolia tree in our backyard. I’ll miss the way it provided shade and respite for our dogs after they spent endless afternoons running around exhausting themselves, only to take solace under the tree. I’ll miss the way it provided me with a sense of calm each time I sat in the back yard with the dogs, sipped a cup of coffee on our back steps, or just peered out the window. I’ll miss the way it anchored our house. 

I’ll miss the way the six 75 foot pine trees towered over our home in complete regality in our front yard, imposing and awe inspiring. Forcing me to appreciate them each time I came up the driveway.

I’ll miss golden hour sunshine that showered our white and blue buffalo-checked kitchen wallpaper in beams of light, alighting every plant, piece of kitchenware, and metal with brilliant hues of yellow and gold.

I’ll miss our local coffee shops; one that brings us back to the northwest culture we miss so much, filled with curated vintage items for sale in every nook and cranny of the store. I’ll miss the plants and books and simple coffee and the fact that this was the first place that felt like “ours” in the community. I’ll miss the other coffee shop for it’s closeness, vast array of crafted drinks, and even the annoying way it forced us to sit and be still due to the length of time it took for everything to be prepared. 

I’ll miss the way everyone greeted and said goodbye to each other, every sentence ending with the most sincere, “God bless you” and “have a blessed day”. 

I’ll miss the eye-sores of cheap blinds we had that the dogs immediately tore apart every time they peaked out the window starting on day one and not stopping since. I’ll miss their heads stealing a peak through the destroyed lower right corner in our front window each time we came home. 

I’ll miss the way the dog’s nails would tap-tap-tap on our wood floors, waking us up in annoyance but with the reminder that we had sweet pups to care for who needed our attention.

I’ll miss the way every single light bulb took a turn going out each week for 3 months straight; a chandelier, a bathroom light, a hallway light, the garage, the dining room, on and on like they were conspiring against us. I’ll miss the way we would manage in the dark portion of the house until eventually we succumbed to the tedious chore of pulling out the ladder and changing it. 

I’ll miss the long one busy road stretching through town that held every store and restaurant I could possibly desire, prompting one too many impromptu shopping trips.

I’ll miss our church and the pastor’s lovely wife who rushed out before service ended to stand at the door and talk to every. single. person. who exited with a brilliant smile, a warm hug and an encouraging word. 

I’ll miss the Airborne call I gave at the gate every time I went on base, intimidating me at first until I finally worked up the nerve to go without someone. 

I’ll miss the hodge-podge of participants at all the workout classes on base. I”ll miss the way we all could commiserate and encourage each other whenever someone was leaving to PCS or some other reason. I’ll miss the gems of advice I’ve heard on how to manage, what to expect, and how we’re all in this together. 

I’ll miss the massively wide highways with no traffic on them, lined with majestic and deep green forest on either side.

I’ll miss Asheville and it’s familiarity to Bend, OR. A mountain town filled with a seedy and storied past, a thriving and modern present, and a completely adventurous and weird population. I’ll miss the fresh air, the Blue Smokey Mountains, the outdoor brewery overlooking the river, and the endless supply of rooftop bars and underground speakeasys. 

I’ll miss the way our living room overhead light would turn on then off each time you flipped the switch. I’ll miss the way it took juuuust the right number of switch flips to get the light to stay on and how proud I felt when I’d finally mastered it (somewhere around 5 and 7).

I’ll miss the time spent with Blaine making food in our kitchen, listening to music and dancing away as we rotated navigating our limited counter space

I’ll miss the adventure it was (two months plus many returns) to finally find the perfect curtains for our awkwardly long mid wall to floor windows. I’ll miss the feat it was to hang them, having Blaine move them 2 inches up, 2 inches down, wait no, back up a fourth of an inch, and back again. 

I’ll miss the way we drove on our lawn. Like, our actual lawn. How the first time Blaine did it I was convinced we’d be hearing from someone soon, and then realizing people with massive front lawns did this all the time out here. I quickly learned how to master this maneuver many times when I was parked in front of Blaine and needed to move his car, but instead just reversed and drove off the lawn like the pro I had become.

I’ll miss those two weeks in the dead of winter to come home and find out that we had absolutely no heat and our house had become an ice box. I’ll miss the dumbfounded way our faces looked when the repair man said, “oh, it was just a vent that was blocked”.

I’ll miss each trip to any store that brought back with it a new plant family member. I’ll miss the way Blaine had to be talked into having plants and now he’s ready to build us a garden until we can own a farm. 

I’ll miss the remarkable southern food not for one second falling short of it’s stellar reputation of  perfected fried chicken and the best shrimp ’n grits of my life. (I, however, will not miss the way North Carolina refuses to serve alcohol before noon on Sunday. The one time I got scolded for trying to order a mimosa at a fancy Easter brunch restaurant will haunt me for life. It was only 11:40 and plus, there’s no such rule where I’m from. What will the 20 minutes difference be in my consumption? I can’t be the only west coast person utterly shocked by this.)

I’ll miss the string of lights hanging from our front porch that Blaine bought for us on our second day there because he knew how much I loved them. 

I’ll miss the hospitality we experienced on the second day in our home as we pulled up in the driveway with pumpkins from the farmer’s market up the street, candy from the local grocery store, and frantically trying to pull together a costume as kids and adults alike bounded up the steps to either trick-or-treat, or to welcome us, the new neighbors, to the neighborhood.

 I’ll miss the veteran across the street with one leg who sits outside with his wife at all hours of the day, a yapping tiny white dog at his side. I’ll miss the next door neighbor who is in her golden years and informed me recently that she just got married and won’t be at her house much anymore. I’ll miss the other veteran across the street with a huge family and the way his house was always decked out to the nines for every holiday and torn down the very next day the holiday was over. 

I’ll miss the way our stupid mailbox would never ever stay closed, leaving us to wonder if we’d actually not received any mail or had someone taken something.  

I’ll miss the patriotism every where we go, American flags and North Carolina flags proudly waving from every house, business, and building. 

I’ll miss the colorful flowering rhododendron’s that seemed to instantly bloom the second we got back from vacation, their pinks and whites and purple hues shocking against the green foliage that had laid there dormant for months. I’ll miss the dogwood that bloomed in brilliant white and the holly that flanked the sides of our house. 

I’ll miss Beaufort, a sleepy beach town steeped in history, charm, and tranquility. I’ll miss the way it provided a perfect getaway in the middle of a heart-aching month. 

I’ll miss Wilmington and it’s coastal water lined with Carolina coastal grass and piers that give me an all new appreciation for docks and waves and birds diving in and out of the water with the sunset beaming behind them.

I’ll miss the multiple snow days we had, where Blaine got to stay home and I got to pretend to be a kid playing with our dogs in the inches of snow that had blanketed our back yard in matter of hours. 

I’ll miss the way that I felt like a total and complete outsider every time I had to clarify that I wanted UNsweet tea and not sweet tea, never being able to order without being asked multiple times. 

But mostly, I’ll just miss that this was home. It may have only been for a brief period of time, but it was home. To the best and darkest of days. To the newlyweds figuring life out together. To the west coast girl figuring out life in the south. To our dogs who had never met. To us building a legacy. And I feel nothing short of grateful that I'll have so much to miss.