Posted by: Ingrid | July 15, 2016

Transplanting Lives

A month ago I tried transplanting the pumpkin shoots and vines that had sprung up, uninvited, in my garden.  They looked magical.  I truly thought a fairy godmother and coach would be following soon as the intricate tendrils unfurled.  Despite my attempts to interest them in other areas of the yard, none of the transplants took. Within minutes of their move they were droopy and wilted beyond recognition.

I’m glad I’m not a pumpkin vine.

Two years ago today we arrived at our new home in Colorado.


Two years, almost the entirety of my daughter’s life so far, seems like such a long time.  In a small town, however, where families have lived and farmed and measured the time in generations, two years is nothing.  For those who say that it’s easy to move with children, I politely disagree.  Easy to move with a baby, yes.  I have done that.  Easy to move with older children, to uproot from any support and friendships that you carefully cultivated? A thousand times no. Two years in and I feel like I am still sprouting fledgling roots and trying to anchor myself.  I was out running shortly after we moved and Alanis Morissette’s song Not as We came on my ipod. Once again, my life was explained in music.

Reborn and shivering
Spat out on new terrain
Unsure, unconvincing
This faint and shaky hour

Day one, day one
Start over again
Step one, step one
I’m barely making sense
For now I’m faking it
‘Til I’m psuedo-making it
From scratch, begin again
But this time I as I
And not as we

I can say with heartfelt gladness that I am glad we moved. Glad for my husband’s job that he loves, his fantastic co-workers and interesting subject matter to teach. I am glad for what the move meant for our family, glad for the things that have happened in the two-year span; two marathons, buying our first home, having Wesley, the friends we have made and the people who have been by our side as we moved and started to settle in.

But moving and starting from scratch is hard work.  Changing the landscape of our lives has been anything but easy and I still have the feeling of “faking it”, the feeling that I must be stuck somewhere off in no-man’s land between Michigan and Colorado.  Probably at the emotional equivalent of being on the border of Illinois and Kansas. It still surprises me how long it takes to settle in and find a place where I feel like I fit and belong.  I keep fumbling towards that and not quite getting there. Forgetting it takes time and feeling frustrated with the slow progress.

I just need to keep reminding myself that it would be much worse if I were a pumpkin vine.

Here’s to the next two years of the transplanting process.



  1. You can always come home to MI, but down deep I am glad Clint has a job that he loves and meets his needs.

    • Me too! Once we get better with road trips we will try to make it out. 🙂

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