Being a military family has its share of challenges. One of them was that we had to move every two to three years, no matter what. Most of the time we were able to sell our homes, God just always seemed to work it out.
But when we moved away from Maine the market was soft. And we loved our house – it was solidly built, on a wonderful lot and close to an amazing town with phenomenal schools. But it just wasn’t a good time to sell.
Which gave us a great incentive to head north: do a little home improvement, get the house ready to sell and visit our old stomping grounds.
The trip is almost 22 hours by car so only a few brave souls were willing (or nominated) to go… Asher, my sweet sister, Clementine and I.
But the three of us persevered and polished and scrubbed and hammered and shined until our hands were calloused and our backs ached while sweet Clementine amused herself with a backpack full of toys and an iPad.
But first, a stop at the Hamilton House.
A place we’d wandered and pondered big and little things.
Like the possibilities as we waited for news of our Poppy’s referral.
And marked milestones.
Like the day before my biggest baby left for college.
So, on the way out of town, a stop there wasn’t optional. It was required.
And it made the leaving just a little harder.
And just a little easier.
So long, Maine. It’s been sweet.