Our family moved last week.
In fact, it would be more accurate to say that our family has been moving for the past year.
It all began with a dream: What if we lived with a little less house, on a little more land? What if we grew and raised more of what we eat?
After six months of searching, we found a little less house on a little more land. It was a mere six miles from our current house – six miles closer to town. The price was right. And the house was a mess. Although it wasn’t an old house – the first section was built in 1995 – it had undergone two tacked-on additions, had a wet basement, needed a new boiler, and appeared to be mid-way through a haphazard renovation: walls were half-painted, windows were without trim, most rooms lacked light fixtures, and (as I repeatedly pointed out to my husband) none of the bathrooms included towel rods.
“Mommy, I don’t want to live here,” my eldest daughter whispered to me as we walked through the house.
“Don’t worry, honey,” I whispered back. “I don’t either.”