Coming Home to Dixie

On June 13th, Jim and I boarded a flight to Mississippi and officially signed the papers that made our new house—and farm—ours. It was a whirlwind day, equal parts surreal and satisfying. Walking out of the lawyer’s office, keys in hand, it hit us: we actually did it. We bought a home more than 2,000 miles away, and in just a few short weeks, we’ll be driving toward a brand-new chapter of our lives.

Of course, the excitement has been paired with plenty of real-life chaos. Since flying back to California, we’ve been in full-blown moving mode: vetting moving companies, gathering packing supplies, and trying to keep track of what goes where. It’s been a logistical tangle, made even trickier by the fact that I’m still working full-time and our girls—beautiful, complex, and healing in their own ways—need near-constant supervision. Trauma doesn’t take a break just because you’re trying to schedule a moving truck.

And then there’s Ava, our sweet German Shepherd. She’s been battling a skin condition that’s gotten worse in the past few weeks, licking herself raw until she’s bleeding. Managing her pain while trying to soothe the girls and meet work deadlines has tested the very edges of my emotional bandwidth. I’ve had moments where I’ve felt like I’m juggling fire with one hand while building a farmhouse dream with the other.

As if all that wasn’t enough, the address to our new home—yes, the very one we just bought—had a strange discrepancy that surfaced when I tried to set up our utilities. One phone call to the power company turned into three days and a mini investigative mission involving two different post offices in two different cities. We finally got it sorted. The house exists. The address is real. And the lights will be on when we get there.

Despite all the bumps, we’ve found small, meaningful ways to lift each other up. Today, after work, we all went to the mall together—something that usually wouldn’t include Jim, but he’s making a conscious effort to connect more with the girls. And it shows. We browsed shops, indulged in food court favorites, and just enjoyed being together in a space that didn’t demand anything from us but presence. It was a simple night, but it felt like a victory.

We’ve also started packing in earnest, and there’s something strangely satisfying about seeing boxes pile up in the corner of a room. Each one is a step closer. A piece of the life we’re building. I even sold my car this week—an odd and slightly uncomfortable feeling, being carless in California—but it’s one more sign that the move is real and imminent. I’m already daydreaming about what kind of car I’ll get once we settle in. Probably something with room for feed bags, fencing supplies, and two babydoll sheep named Dale and Ernie.

As the days tick by, I’m reminded that every big leap is made of a hundred tiny steps—some messy, some frustrating, some joyful. And right now, we’re in that beautiful, complicated in-between.

We’re not quite there yet. But we’re on our way.

And we’re doing it—together.