Today marks the beginning of our very last week here at 8321 Hobhouse Circle. We close on our new home on Friday and the moving trucks crank up Saturday morning. While I’m excited about the possibilities our new home will bring, I am also going to miss this house. Its been so good to us.
Kelly and I have discussed this before, how we couldn’t wait to leave our Garner home and didn’t ever regret that move. It was nothing against Garner but more particular to our house, or more specifically our neighborhood, I suppose. We had no sidewalks and no front porch there. We didn’t have the chance to meet our neighbors the way we do here. Even though our new neighborhood has no sidewalks, our home has a porch and our home sits right next to an active pathway into the next neighborhood.
That’s been the best part of our home here. People here know their neighbors. Folks are always walking by on our sidewalk and we can easily say hello from our front porch and get to meet them. Neighborhood kids freely roam from one friend’s house to another. Our kids don’t roam, but others do.
I think about who we were when we moved here. Hallie had just turned two and Travis was three months away from being born. When I painted both their rooms I began by painting a large heart with their names next to it. That will always be part of this house.
I remember the neighborhood stork visiting our front yard, greeting Travis when he was born. I remember many nights spent rocking him to sleep in his darkened room. This is the only home Travis has ever known.
I remember little Hallie so eager to pitching with painting our den. And both kids being glued to my side as I replaced the downstairs toilet.
I remember all of us playing the “uphill-downhill” game, switching places from the high end of the yard to the low end.
I remember the gaggle of neighborhood kids swarming our backyard playset. Happened all the time.
I remember the parade of friends through the backyard, a parade that Hallie begged and pleaded to bring to fruition. I remember proud she looked, and I was proud for her.
Of course, I remember the train crews and their friendly waves and honks. The kids have grown up waving to those trains.
I remember the deer, mice, groundhogs, foxes, rabbits, hawks, buzzards, crows, Great Blue Herons, frogs, opossums, raccoons, neighborhood cats, and all the other furry and feathered beasts who graced our backyard from time to time.
I remember the azaleas and hydrangeas I brought from my grandmother’s yard and planted in the flowerbeds here.
I remember all the DNA our children left on these sidewalks with their every tumble and scrape. I remember happy young faces racing down these sidewalks at other times.
I remember the impromptu neighborhood parties on Halloween and Independence Day. I will miss the sense of community and caring here.
Your house and neighborhood becomes so much a part of you. Each says a lot about who you are. In a way, a move is like a little death. You say goodbye to so many things that helped define you and at the same time you trade them for new ones. The village really does raise the child.
And for me, at least, moving reminds me that the material things don’t matter: its the experience and relationships. Also that a neighborhood is more than the houses that fill it. I’m also reminded that opportunities are meant to be taken, and that growth never happens if you never dare to stray from your comfort zone.
Yes, we are wrapping up our time here, and its been a very good one indeed. While we can’t take the neighborhood with us we will always, at least, have our fond memories.