I recently went to a knitting meeting in the courtyard of an art museum. Several small round tables were pushed together to accommodate a group of people from all over the country, and all over the world, each with their own distinct project but united by a common craft. The courtyard is very large (it’s fully enclosed, but also there are trees), and at the time there was a limited orchid exhibit artfully arranged around the space. A dazzling variety of colors and shapes and iterations, all under the umbrella of “orchid”.
We’ve lived in the DMV (that’s DC Maryland Virginia area, not Department of Motor Vehicles, which is what it meant everywhere else I’ve ever lived) for a year now. We’ve experienced a spring, a summer, an autumn, and a winter; we’ve found events we’re looking forward to reexperiencing and places that we regularly return to. We’ve encountered people that we’ve come to know outside the context in which we met them.
It’s a very nice feeling. So far everyone is unanimous in their assertion that they love it here, and my only moment of regret was a fleeting semi-joking annoyance that we moved out of the path of totality for the solar eclipse and will, once again, be observing it partially. I’m also slowly regaining my love of thunderstorms, as they’re significantly less likely to turn into tornadoes here (I still can’t wear headphones if it’s raining, though).
There is plenty yet to explore and observe, but we have familiar spaces to return to when our sense of adventure needs a long rest. And that, really, is all I ask of a home.