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There's No Place Like Home

A week or so after our big move Annie and I worked together in the kitchen getting supper on the table. We rifled through every cabinet and drawer looking for various pans, pot holders, spices, and the bread knife. She remarked that it was like we were cooking in the kitchen of an Airbnb. It didn’t quite seem like our house. We hadn’t acclimated to its new rhythm. We were adjusting and learning, laying down new tracks in our brains, realizing there would be a necessary time of adjustment to living with ease in a new place.

Several months ago, Jeff and I faced a decision that was more than selling a house and buying another. It was a decision to change the way we live. If we left the neighborhood for the farm, there would be fences to mend and land to brush hog. We’d have to fight briars and wasps and squirrels in the attic. At the same time, it promised to be a place for our kids and grandkids to come and play and rest and learn about this world from a different perspective.

Two months …

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