On March 1st, 2015, after packing up and clearing our debris, we left the storage lot for the last time.
We were southbound on the interstate highway another fifty miles before we made a stop at the in-laws’ place to load up the remainder of our things.
Then, a short drive across town to our new home: a three acre farm nestled between a dense metropolitan area and a state park, twenty minutes from major urban centers and walking distance to 5,000 acres of undisturbed wildlife.
Settling in was rough, easily the most difficult couple of months Starla and I had shared. There were two babies crying continuously and stuff strewn everywhere for weeks. We had no system, no solid ground, no familiarity. We had to build that from scratch. A good day was one where nobody broke down crying.
Things gradually got easier. The kids slowly adjusted to a new life, we slowly adjusted to having two kids, and the bus gradually adjusted to having people in it. In time, it became a home.
I have come to think of a home as a living organism. You feed it effort and it adapts and adjusts to meet your needs, developing a chiseled reflection of your commitments and your proclivities. Your habitat reflects your values and your priorities, and to an extent, influences them. Just as much today as in those first feeble weeks, our home grows as we do.
Bertha TV 