It only took a little over a year. A year of feeling horribly homesick, irritated with all things Jersey, and reluctant to find anything good here, so far away from Colorado.
Then suddenly, things changed. I stepped off an airplane and inhaled the smell of… home. The sky, huge and blue, dotted with little flocks of clouds, began to look like my sky. The trees, in groves, clusters, copses, and forests, began to look like my trees.
Now I wake up some mornings and step outside to inhale crisp fall air. I wrap myself in a warm sweater and walk my darling girl to school through the park and think “This really isn’t so bad”. When I return home I curl up with my son, and my morning coffee, and I can unwind. I am unpacking boxes. I am settling in. It’s not so bad here.
There are orchards all over the place where you can pick your own fruit, and vineyards ripe with potential wine. I drive past farms on my way to the supermarket, and drive into national forests to go to the park. I can walk into town to our tiny little library, and have lunch (with Gelato) at my neighborhood coffee shop. The fall air smells like moisture and woodsmoke. There are turtles native to the area, just wandering around. (Devon found one in front of the house the other day, but thankfully placed it in a nearby park, instead of adding another pet to the fray.)
Maybe it’s not being in Red Bank, in a dark cave-like house, surrounded by angry yuppies wearing size 2 Prada jeans and pointy-toed heels. Maybe it’s just the passage of time.
Either way, this year is looking up.