We have a little over a week left of life as we know it here on the mountain, and that’s a really weird thought to me. I mean, in eight days, this will no longer be my home. I will not be free to roam these woods looking for herbs or doing nature walks with my kids. I’ll no longer infuse love and energy into the plants I’ve curated in my gardens. My days of dreaming about how to make our rustic mountain cottage into more of the perfect home for us will be gone entirely.
It’s sad, but strangely, I feel okay with it. In all honesty, I thought I would have a really hard time leaving here. I imagined my husband dragging me kicking and screaming as I held on to the dark woods and the seclusion it provides that I love so much. Either that or me telling him to go on and move if he wanted to, but I was staying here. However, over the last couple of months, as the possibility of moving turned into a reality, those thoughts have been the furthest things from my mind.
The place we’re moving is so different from the mountain in many ways. I mean, we live in the Appalachian Mountains of upper East Tennessee, so we literally live on and in the mountains no matter how you look at it, but this new place is carved out between two mountains and settled snuggly in a little valley next to a creek. It’s beautiful. In fact, it’s the ideal place we always dreamed of living. But, it’s not my mountain, and this place is one I’ve come to love so much.
I was looking over a letter I sent out last month, and as I read the quote I shared there, these words stuck out to me. “Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what’s going to happen next. Delicious ambiguity.” After reading them, I just smiled because those words couldn’t be more accurate. Life is beautiful, and real beauty is sharing it with those you love. Where my husband goes, I go. His dreams are my dreams. Marriage is one of give and take, and y’all―my man typically gives a whole lot more than he takes, so when he asks me to uproot from my mountain and follow him to the valley, I will go—gladly.
With that said, one thing that has helped me the most with this transition is dreaming up a vision for our new home, one that this little place here on the mountain could never be, and allowing it to unfold in my mind. This vision gives me hope and something to work towards―it’s very much like the spring work. If you got my seasonal living magazines back in spring, you’ll understand what I’m talking about. I’ll share more details about our new home here on the blog as I’ll be documenting a lot of the remodeling process in this space.
For now, though, I’m going to make the most of these last days here on the mountain―amongst the school and work portions of life, you’ll find me savoring and soaking up these last little bits―pressing them into my heart and my memories. I’ll be spending my final mornings on the deck sipping my coffee and writing in my gratitude journal, taking daily walks in the gardens and whispering to my plants, and then heading to the forest each night for my evening journaling ritual.
In a couple of weeks, we’ll be the owners of a new home, and I’m sure I’ll have many more tales and adventures to share with you. Thank you so much for being here―for reading my Lunar Letters and for writing back to me, for following along with me here on Instagram, and for all your faithful prayers and well wishes. You make so much of what I do online worth it, so thank you!
Love and light,