Coming Home to Dixie

Last week, I saw a message on Facebook from Tiny Cow Farms—the same sweet folks we got Dale and Ernie from—letting its followers know that they had a newborn Juliana piglet who needed a home. Her mama couldn’t nurse her, and they were looking for someone who could bottle or pan feed her. Without hesitation, I offered to take her in. Something about caring for Dale and Ernie has given me a quiet kind of confidence I never expected, and now we’re preparing to welcome little Amelia to the family this weekend.

In the meantime, we’ve been soaking up the daily photo and video updates from the farm. The girls are just smitten already. I’ve been reading all I can about raising Juliana pigs, and each evening I catch myself imagining her cuddling with the rest of our crew, swaddled in a little blanket to keep her warm in the cool Mississippi air.

Speaking of air—it’s been cold. Really cold. Jim bundled the girls off to school this morning with the temperature hovering at 30 degrees. I haven’t felt that kind of chill since my college days in Chicago back in the 90s. It’ll take some getting used to, but there’s something oddly refreshing about watching your breath in the morning sun while feeling invigorated by the cold air.

Apparently, my office is the new winter resort for ladybugs. Roslynn counted 37 of them the other afternoon. They sneak in through the window and gather on the warm windowsill and curtains. I’ve read that ladybugs symbolize blessings, transformation, and new beginnings. That feels especially fitting for our family lately—with the big cross-country move, the upcoming baptisms at the end of the month, and a new season settling in.

Even small things feel like blessings. Like the fact that Jim is now officially a Mississippian. He changed over his driver’s license last week and the whole process felt like something out of a dream—no line, no fuss, no DMV drama. We were both in shock. It was a far cry from California’s waitlists and standing in line at 7 a.m. Just a modest brick building tucked away in a quiet parking lot, staffed by the kindest folks who even offered to help us print needed documents from their own email.

Later that night, we stepped outside to take in a full moon that hung low and golden above the treetops, casting a soft glow over the valley behind our house. The moonlight made everything feel still and sacred. I stood there in the quiet and felt such deep gratitude for all that has changed—some of it hard, some of it unexpected, but all of it leading us to this moment.

It’s funny how a bottle-fed piglet, a flurry of ladybugs, and a quiet DMV visit can speak volumes when your heart is paying attention. Change doesn’t always come with fireworks. Sometimes it arrives wrapped in simplicity—and if we’re lucky, a little moonlight too.