I’m sitting in bed upstairs in my quirky old house in Upstate New York. I’ve had to Google a couple times to determine if the Capital region qualifies as upstate, but most sources agree that it is indeed. When a friend suggested that I move into their rental property in New York state, I was dubious. I had very clearly stated that I was giving the universe a vote in where I moved next and so was looking for a place with a compelling argument to live there. I kinda thought that would still be in Massachusetts, or maybe New Hampshire. However, the universe seems to have it’s own agenda. I thought I would like it better than living in Boston, but I didn’t expect to love it here. I was wrong.
The Hudson Valley, the Catskills, the Adirondacks, the Taconic Mountains…this area has so much natural beauty going for it. I’m constantly blown away by the sights as I am driving around the area. So many gorgeous old homes and barns here add to the landscape. I drive past quirky lawn art, gorgeous gardens, apple orchards and genuine farmstands…some just a rolling cart full of flowers and veggies with a money box sitting on top. The honor system…well, that’s something you don’t see every day.
And there’s my house. A darling Victorian that’s in the process of being restored to it’s former beauty. That’s what suckered me for sure. The chance to help give this old girl some love. And so far, it’s coming along nicely. And I’m delighted by my fancy dining room turned sewing studio and my attic that’s all 100 year old wood planks. Even the beastly old decommissioned boiler in the basement makes me happy in a strange way.
So yeah…for the first time in a while saying the words “I’m home” feel like the truth. I don’t know for how long…but at least for a time, it’s enough.