Ladies, gents.

It feels absolutely invigorating to be back at The Literary Man writing to y’all as we begin our journey westward to make a new home in Steve’s native Portland. We’ll be detailing our family cross-country driving extravaganza here over the coming weeks. The good moments, the tricky moments, and everything in between.

But first, goodbye to you dear little Vermont. It is both exciting and bittersweet to leave this place. We had our son here, we learned how to be married here, we learned how to do our best every day at being parents here, we learned how to care for eachother here. We will miss the mountain and lake sunrises and sunsets. We will miss the people we met, and are forever grateful to all our Vermont friend family who helped and cared for us over the years. To you, our forever friends, we can’t wait to see you again on the other side of this move, in Oregon, in Montana, in New Orleans, in New York City, in Hawaii or Mexico or who even knows but somewhere

So onward, and we begin our travelogue:

We spent our last night in Vermont at High Acres, the family home of Amanda and Jeff our dear friends- without their help (& truck) we most certainly wouldn’t have made such a smooth exit. Two girls lookingout toward mountains with binocularsWe watched a tiny deer munching on drought dried grass, a spectacular sunset, and ate pizza and wine. It was the perfect bookend to the last five years of Vermonting.

Two babies facing a cow lying down at a farmThe next morning, Steve and Jeff headed out in the truck to execute the move while Amanda and I took the kids to the Shelburne Farm Barn for some croissants from the bakery and a goodbye to the animals.

I packed our new car, my grandpa’s old white Ford Explorer full to the gills with anything and everything we would need over the next 15 days and drove away. Some tears saying goodbye to Amanda, who has been a constant and generous soul since the day we met, but otherwise an open fresh outlook for our adventures to come.

Car with back trunk door open filled with suitcases

Goodbye sweet Vermont. We don’t know when we will see you again, but you have made us who we are, and for that we say thank you.