On a Tuesday in November we decided to move west. I can’t say I was very surprised that our lives were leading us there. I always had the feeling the mountains were calling to me. Seasons passed and the time eventually came to pack our lives into boxes and begin our trek west. It hit me somewhere in the middle of Saskatchewan last week just how lucky we were to have spent the past 10 months in the cute little house by the water.
As we packed our final things into the car that day and took one last walk through of the house, we hugged side by side and took in the sight of the empty space. In that moment I felt full. I was filled to the brim with gratitude and nostalgia and felt that familiar wave of bittersweetness that happens with these kind of moves. Gone were the days of the gorgeous lake sunsets, or the echoing voice of the final boarding call for the ferry. That cute little house with a view held us through our first year of marriage. We moved in in the fall – my favourite season of the year, we endured the longest winter since the 70’s, and enjoyed its brilliance turning from the sweetness of spring to a highly anticipated summer.
I have a tendency to fall in love with places and this one takes the cake. Not that it was better than the house that I grew up in, or my very own apartment in the city, it’s just that I had my new husband with me for this one. There were we’s and ours plastered on the walls that made this place different. It made this place home.
As we made our way west, we stopped for ball games in the states, jammed to tunes through the prairies and were left speechless with the first glimpse of the Rockies. Those boxes arrived a few days ago and it finally sunk in that we just moved across the country. Change isn’t always easy, but it sure is an adventure.