Where we Are

So far it has been a gentle autumn. I'm getting a little nervous, because every time we say we're from New Mexico people immediately say, "have you been here for winter before?" And then I recite my whole thing about how I used to live in GR and there is some serious winter there, blah blah blah. But I admit, I got pretty spoiled. Having perfect powder snow followed by killer sunsets is going to be really hard to be away from. The first year I lived there, I couldn't stop smiling due to the constant sun-endorphins. My soul was so hungry for light. But I digress.
But this--foliage--up close (not a distant aspen)--that you can pick up and show your kids and hear it crunch beneath your feet? I missed this.
This is the park by our rental home. A giant sand dune overlooking a small, clean playground. We come here at least once a day.
The kids run up the stairs and then run back down the sand.
If you climb to the top of the sand dune, you can then walk down the other side.
And your eyes will be greeted by this. One of the prettiest beaches I think I've ever seen. Yup.
Right now, there is almost no wind, just sun and clean, clean sand. Try not to trip over the kids getting their senior pictures taken. There are a lot of those.

So at night after dinner we walk over here and just let them sit around in the sand, occasionally pulling Elsa away from the water.



Shamelessly, blatantly copied from Kelle at Enjoying the Small Things.

So, there are many things I miss that will never be replaced or surpassed. There are also many things I love. And that is the meaning of moving. By this Saturday we will officially have been "moving" for two months. I can't even remember how it all breaks down, a week here, a week there, here a week, there a week, everywhere a week, week. Somehow in the middle of all this I joined a homeschool coop for Heidi. And made posters and stuff. And tried a new soup recipe. Because all of us got sick with a cold.

I think a lot about the Ingalls these days. No one could have told me I would cry the day I got to visit one of their homesteads in South Dakota and actually behold a dress that had belonged to Laura. Yes, people, I cried. I can't wait to read those books to Heidi for the first time...because they will mean so much more now. Home is in the wagon, even the wagon is heading to Heaven only knows where. Home is around the fire, even when you can hear the wolves howling nearby. You're still home. Home is making and holding, listening, sharing, singing, and reminding each other of the Truth. And a good episode of Survivor. Yeah, we'd be the Olson family with the satellite hanging off our wagon. Anyways, with (hopefully, hopefully) the end in site of all this wagon-ing around, I'm thankful for the reminder to be thankful. And for all the blessings we have received from family, friends, and strangers, the hospitality, the echoes of Home, that have made this time so sweet.

I'm just really hoping not to be writing a similar post in another 6-12 months. Here's to hoping the next post will be entitled "closing day."