Moving from City to Rural

After selling the house, the next inevitable and dreaded step was to begin the move. Moving sucks. I’m pretty sure it’s one of the worst thing in the world. Sharks, diabetes, crying babies – they got nothing on moving. I also hate packing – almost as much as the actual moving part. Oh, and I also loath unpacking. The whole process is just one horrible nightmare.

Darcie had talked to her cousin, a farmer with all of the fancy toys,  and had arranged to borrow a trailer he owned to use in the move. This trailer was not just large, it was fricking gargantuan. Thirty feet long, 8 feet tall and 8 feet wide.


For reference, our shop is 40×60″ and this beast filled it. I was pretty sure we’d be able to pack our whole house in this thing. Still there was this whole bit about actually packing the house first…

We had a big house and we had filled it with a lot of stuff. It wasn’t even important stuff, just things, objects. When you have the space, you will fill it. It’s impossible not to it seems. We certainly weren’t hoarders. In fact, we were anti-hoarders. We purged our house regularly. Every few months we’d go through our closets and empty things out that we hadn’t used or had no need to keep. Still, it was shocking how much stuff we had to pack. Well, I shouldn’t say we. I should say Darcie. I suck and stalled getting most of the packing done (although I hate to admit it). I found innumerable excuses as to why I needed to be doing something else super important – other than packing.

Miraculously the house got packed and when moving day came we were somehow ready to go. I really meant to take a picture of all of the boxes we (sic. Darcie) had packed, but I just had no desire to do so. Here was the trailer when we started and when we were done it was stuffed.


We took one last walk through the old house. It was a strange feeling, walking through the house that we never thought we would leave. I recalled the first time we had walked through the house just before moving into it nearly five years ago. It seemed so similar in a lot of ways, except that our fingerprints and our history were now apart of the house. I could see all of the work that we had done to make it more grand, beautiful, and restored. But this house had also changed us. It, too, had also left it’s mark on us. We were leaving this place as very different people than when we had first walked through it’s doors. We had a different perspective now. And in some peculiar and unpredictable ways, the house had helped us to recognize where we wanted our life to be.

When we had first bought it, we had talked about all of the “happy and sad stories” that the walls of this house had witnessed. As we stood in the main room and looked at the big walls, ornate trim, and 100 year old floors, we recognized that we’d certainly been one of it’s happy stories. I hoped this house would witness many more to come.