Home is where the bread is baked.

The gravel road through the evergreens and maples is quite long, half a mile, in fact. Recent rains hollowed out generous potholes, so those will need minding. At the end of the road and through two large posts, you’ll have an even narrower gravel and grass road to navigate around the rolling pasture and its fencing (don’t hit your side mirror!). At the top of the hill, you’ll see our home. It’s all cedar and looks as if it rose right from the forest floor. Watch the chickens and ducks as you arrive—they think they own the road.

Now, once you get out of your car, you could walk the crumbly path and then climb the stairs to the double front doors—they are a ripe red just like the apples growing here in autumn. But likely you’ll meander to the side door across the grassy strip, the “friend door”, the one that opens straight into the kitchen where the woodfire stove is burning and the tea kettle is piping. That’s where I am, anyway.

And that’s where I’ve been now for four months (yes, mostly in the kitchen). Most of the boxes are unpacked and we’ve cozied in for the winter before tackling the larger jobs of organizing storage areas, cleaning out the pole barn, replacing the roof. I’m glad you’re here. Let’s sit on stools over the brick floor and warm our hands over our mugs and chat. I’m sure you’ll have questions, but let me begin…

We needed to move from our last rental, a large, sprawling, yellow house on top of a steep hill on acreage. The owners were beyond generous in allowing us to stay in a house they were hoping to sell, and three years had gone by (and we all know what two of those years brought upon us all). I began packing boxes last spring, hoping another house would show up, affordable and reasonable for our family. I wasn’t encouraged by the real estate market; we live in a rural area that is growing from folk coming (escaping?) from the city, and they had no qualms of offering extravagant contracts over and above asking prices. That, and the downturn from construction due to the lockdowns, meant inventory was low, so buyer desperation and house values escalated. Rentals were non-existent for a family our size, and besides, even a two bedroom, two bathroom apartment was now renting for $2200 a month. After 26 years of living here, we were effectively priced out of our own community. But still I packed boxes. Books, first. So, so many books. I do downsize them…but they have babies and multiply when I’m not looking.

I should mention also that in the year previous, we had bought some property in which to build. However, the beavers on the land won and effectively negated our ability to build anything whatsoever. Who but the Lord could have provided a “beaver fanatic expert scientist and writer” to enthusiastically relieve us of that land, albeit at a steep discount?

Meanwhile, Bible study continued in our home. The ladies and I were studying through 1 and 2 Kings, eating our treats and drinking our tea and lifting up all of our needs in prayer, including for a home for my family. I didn’t mean to be discouraged, but truthfully I was weary of moving every two-three years and didn’t think I could do even one more move!

My husband and I decided to consider moving out of the area. The housing market was one reason, but it was also tempting to leave the high cost of living and increasing crime. We also realized our small business was at risk of getting closed down due to our government’s mandates (how long would we be deemed “essential”?) Maybe, we too, would become part of the river of escapees from our state.

We took many trips over the next couple of months to Texas, where our daughter and her family live. After all, if you’re going to make such a giant leap, at least jump towards where like minded family (and grandchildren) live. We found a wonderful realtor and looked in many areas. Meanwhile, all of the other questions had to be answered: do we start a new business there? Do we first move half our family and have Daddy join us later? How how how? Meanwhile, pack, pray, pack, pray, (laugh, cry)…

We finally put an offer on a small, modern white farmhouse down a quiet country road in east Texas, and negotiated for the acreage behind it. It was accepted, and we began the transition in earnest. I began sewing a few tops in lightweight fabric for my new climate, and downsized our home goods even more, getting furniture ready to sell. It was scary. It was exciting.

It was not to be.

The day before our contract commenced with “no going back”, my husband changed his mind. And just like that, we were back to square one.

More to come. Refresh your tea.