I wasn't sure i would want to be back. I think i had started to feel all this pressure. My natural sense of competition and perfectionism which made me forget why i decided to start writing here, and made me feel like i was suddenly competing with every person on the planet. That i wasn't being interesting enough, well known enough, creative enough, inspiring enough. That my life was just a normal everyday and what right did i have to be writing about it. Who'd want to keep reading when i was feeling a little jaded and bored of myself, even.
But today i was driving along the green dappled lanes which lead us from the local pool to our new home and i was just thinking how beautiful it was, and how i felt like writing a line or two. How i wanted to share the warm breezes and the open windows, music playing, all three of us quiet in the car now that we were cooled off, just absorbing the green and watching for deer. How i would love to take you by the hand and show you the dust path that leads to a secluded lane where we almost bought a house lost in the forest, but didn't. But i still really love that dusty lane. How green the green is up here. I think because of all the rain. How hot and humid the summer is with no central air conditioning in the house - we have been searching out the cool corners and are feeling part of the season in a way we never did before, when we could dip in and out of the heat and retreat to our cool air conditioned interior. There is no escaping the heat here but it reminds me of Africa and the summers of my childhood and i feel at home in my skin somehow, in the heat.
I have fallen for this place. Hard. Unexpectedly. Just a town we haven't even lived a month in. A small place, hard to find on the map. But the green. And the trees. And the houses, set back in the woods and along the road, mailboxes merrily lined up and long leafy drives, everything still left a little wild. It's not all tidy and well maintained at all, and i love that. The woods and the cool shadows and the early morning silence. The wet dew on my feet as i walk to hang the washing. It reminds me of my grandparents, living here. Their large rambling garden where i spent a lot of my childhood. The tangled wild garden of the berg cottage where my grandfather disappeared into the forests by day and the grasses grew long and it was green as far as the eye could see. I can picture him here, pottering in the woods and drinking a beer on the back deck at sunset. Even though he went a long time ago, some days it's as if he is here - or the spirit of what he meant to me, the things he loved are somehow here, around me. In the way the light falls and the green ferns reach leafy arms to the treetops.
I wish i could drive you down the road where the twists and turns are slow and quiet and life is about slowly unpacking and finding the right places for our treasures in the house. Taking our time to decide on wall colours and furniture. No hurry at all. Where our days are about doing our own thing in the mornings, the three of us while Clint is at work ... and then heading to the pool where Lexi is learning to swim like a fish and Hayden dips and dives in a flash of blue goggles. The first few weeks were hard and stressful - all of us a bit out of sorts, so much to do, feeling the pressure. Finding our way. And then it's as if we sighed out a collective sigh, the three of us. A deep breath out as we settled. Into the new house, our new lives, our new skins. Everything slowed down a little and the heat sat on our shoulders and we feel as if we're living in a vacation house still. I hope that feeling lasts. Even when the striped beach towels and flip flops give way to coats and boots, i hope we can capture that feeling. Because that will be a job well done and a house i'd really really like to live in.