Two years ago we moved into this house. This morning, as I was drinking coffee, I realized this and thought it would make a good blog post. All sorts of ideas and connections ran through my mind.
They’re all gone now.
It was a long day. Ilsa was home sick, and I came home to check on her and somehow took about 3 hours off this afternoon and was sick with her. After a nap, I find myself feeling better. The headache is mostly gone. I guess rest is actually good for us after all! This is a brilliant concept and one I find myself hoping to explore more.
They say, these experts on international moves and third-culture-kids and people like that, that is takes 2 full years to really adjust and settle. They’re right. The first year everything is new; the second year you look for patterns. After that, you’re okay.
I spent the summer picking berries as often as possible, although the selection in our freezer is still paltry as we head into winter. I adore fresh berries–especially blueberry, raspberry, and any form of blackberry (i.e. marionberry, loganberry, etc) We live in the boring suburbs in a cookie-cutter house, but thanks to the brilliance of Portland’s Urban Growth Boundary, we live about 10 minutes from rural farmland, acres and acres of farms stretching out along the contours of the rolling hills to the west of us, blue with distance and sun. I would snatch a free hour, run out to a farm, come back with 5 pounds of raspberries for jam, or blueberries for cobbler, always with the idea of freezing for winter, but somehow not always achieving that goal.
It was a gorgeous summer–the days long and light-filled. We haven’t had rain for months now, very unusual for the Portland area. Fall has been filled with hot afternoons and crisp mornings and nights that are downright cold, so that it’s pretty much impossible to dress appropriately.
My Iraqi friends call this “Mountain Hood.” Locals say Mt. Hood.
If you are wondering, these are the things that help me adjust to a place. I need to know the patterns of afternoon sunlight in a room, or where the maples glow on sunny days, or the way to take to the mechanic that takes me through farmland and green hills and vines stretching up them into the distance. I need a riot of sunflowers and dahlias planted by the road, or the tangle of roses at all the freeway exits. I need the feel of the rain, of the heat, of the clattering moths outside a front door or the glow of a firepit giving a rather ugly and neglected backyard a certain allure. The place I had the hardest time adjusting to was Mauritania, because it took me years to see the beauty of it. Even now, I feel that if they could just turn the sun down by about 20%, it would be so much nicer.
I grew daffs and tulips and roses and cosmos. I planted a dogwood.
We bought that vase in France. It’s been all over with us. It’s very unsteady and I’m happy it’s survived.
Elliot had a deadline for the outline for his Extended Essay (I put it in caps cuz that’s how he refers to it. It’s a 4000-word essay that he’s doing on the Battle of Stalingrad. I think he’s already smarter than I am, but don’t tell him. It’d go right to his head) and needed to go to the big library, the one downtown that takes up a city block. I didn’t let myself even go in because I knew I would see a few books that I really really wanted to read and frankly, I already have a stack I need to read for 5 Minutes for Books. Instead I dropped him off, parked the car, and sat in the Park Blocks for a lovely, lonely hour. The Park Blocks are a block wide and run right through the center of downtown, from Portland State on the heights down past Burnside at the bottom of a long sloping hill. They are planted with elms and lined with benches and statues to various notable people, and when I was a student I used to do most of my reading homework out there (except when it was raining. This is Portland). I was utterly content, sitting in the sun with the occasional golden leaf dropping like a gift, reading a very good book. I turned off my phone and enjoyed it.
this phone camera has no depth of field….
Two years ago, I had no idea I would be in this place. But here I am. I’m doing fine. How are you doing where you’re at? Is it at all what you pictured? I’m guessing no, because it never is.
13 comments
October 9, 2012 at 1:13 am
Ariana {And Here We Are...}
I think you’re right, the process of feeling at ease/ at home in a place just takes time. We’ve been in England for a year now. Last fall, we heard about all sorts of fun things we wished we had done– but we were just getting our bearings, and really couldn’t accomplish much, in terms of enjoying cultural festivities. This time around, we are just with it enough to hit some key things– a game and country fair, a mushrooming walk, berry picking (only twice) and hopefully an apple festival. Next year, I imagine we will be even more present and ready to easily go out and participate. I think that expat life, above all, is really about patience.
October 9, 2012 at 3:19 am
Kit
Lovely to have farmland and berries so close to you, even if they don’t make it to the freezer. We grow our own and I still don’t manage to fill the freezer, though it’s nearly time for strawberry jam making again.
We’ve been here 10 years now, the longest I’ve ever been in one place as an adult. Life seems to be all patterns and change gets harder once you are so settled, but change happens anyway as the children grow!
October 9, 2012 at 4:29 am
Megan S.
You make Portland sound like the greatest place to live. I’m tempted. I’m doing better where I am at, but it’s day-to-day. It’s not that the place isn’t what I pictured, but I am not what I pictured. It turns out I’m terribly imperfect and incapable. The good news is that’s normal, or so I hear. So I’ll Keep Calm And Carry On.
October 9, 2012 at 7:10 am
Judith
“The first year everything is new. The second year you look for patterns.” This helps make sense of my own adjustment back to the USA *and* to a different part of the country from where I’d ever lived before. This third fall seems much easier. I’m still learning some of the patterns, but I think I’m also more removed from stimulation overload. Even in a rural setting, there can be so much stimulation overload that comes just from the “figuring things out” stage. I’m finally to the point where I can filter out (quickly and without much energy) the parts that don’t apply to me, and thereby have more energy for actual living.
October 9, 2012 at 7:49 am
chrisbethnbubba2
Thanks for your article and the comments. I need someone else to put these kinds of feelings and reactions into words. We made some big changes over the past year and I’m still “filtering” what I should/want to do.
October 9, 2012 at 8:01 am
wrathofmom
I agree: you make Portland sound charming.
October 9, 2012 at 8:40 am
Jennifer
Portland *is* charming. I was just there, staying with my sister in N. Portland & commuting (ok, the commuting is not a very charming aspect of Portland) to Beaverton. From your description, sounds like you’re on the north side, too? One of these days we must meet!
October 9, 2012 at 11:49 am
LIB
Very beautifully put (as always).
I often say, “It’s not the life I expected; but it’s not a bad life.”
October 9, 2012 at 3:22 pm
bocafrau
We are in our home going on 11 years now but thought we would be long gone by now. But things happen and it is what it is. i do like our neighborhood with its lakes and walking paths. I would love to live closer to the beach which will happen some day!!! 🙂
October 10, 2012 at 1:19 am
Debbie
Really nice reflections. I liked the bit about “the first year everything’s new; the second year you look for patterns” because that’s so true! That’s exactly how it was for me as I looked back over our two years in this place.
October 10, 2012 at 11:04 am
Annie Wald
Enjoyed these last two posts–glad to have you ‘back’ {from what I’m not sure..I guess it was a treat to read two posts by you in a week. Except the knobby pumpkin picture bears some resemblance to the Job-like rash on my face [not quite Elephant Man but…]
October 12, 2012 at 3:28 pm
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