The Final Move

Well, we are moved into our house. It wasn’t the house we looked for. It wasn’t the land we wanted. But we’ve adjusted, though with much consideration and turmoil.

After Joey drove an hour to work for 25 years, we did not want to choose land too far away from where he worked. As we looked, there seemed a balance to what was too far. We liked the secluded places with trees and no neighbors. They weren’t really available.
I reminded myself we were downsizing, but needed three bedrooms now.
And a shop or barn for the boys’ activities.
And land for a few chickens and the horse and room to roam for the three dogs.
All the land in the amount we wanted was bought quickly by Marijuana growers who were flocking from WY and MT after a recent law that allowed them to grow.

What we got…
A house in town. 

Not on the North side, where they named the streets after presidents: Washington, Monroe, Madison. On this side, people have lost their lawn mowers in sink holes and a school’s foundation sunk where they use to mine and still have open caverns under their foundations.

We live on the South side, where they named the streets after Indian tribes: Choctaw, Chickasaw, Seminole, Osage. 

Bombs are detonated every day around 11 AM  if it’s not too windy or wet. They shake the foundations of every house, rattle the windows, and can be felt 45 minutes away. But most residents don’t notice the bombs. Nor do they have special building codes to accommodate houses that shift. Inspectors seem to expect sagging door frames and shifting. Because many of the houses are old, their beams are made from “good” wood that have stood the test of time and bombs— cracks in the ceilings and walls withstanding.

We had to adjust to a “new” and different set of standards as we looked for houses. Zillow pictures showed clutter everywhere, no floor visible, and pills spilled over the bed. Even vacant houses seemed a dump when we entered the garage. Our realtor explained that we could ask for them to remove their unwanted junk, but they probably wouldn’t. She told of old cars being left behind, inherited by the new owner. How hard was it to take to things to the dump? No one wanted to pay the $5 to do it.
We had to adjust to another way of looking at things.

But as we looked at land and location and houses, discouragement was high. 

We were in escrow three times. The first was in a flood zone that required high flood insurance (something we wouldn’t have considered in CA), not to mention the introduction to cracks in foundations, chimneys, and walls. 

The second house, on the second more thorough look, had foundation cracks as well, but they had also enclosed a mobile home within the construction of their house, even the mobile roof was left within the normal roof. The realtor explained that in her house renovations, she found a window that had been covered with siding and no insulation. She laughed and said, “You never know what surprises you may find when you remodel.” A mobile home at a high price was not what we wanted.

We were able to rent for a few months. Town life wasn’t so bad. Joey came home for lunch almost every day. Stores were just minutes away.
Definitely not what we anticipated. But workable.

Our third house was in town. The yard is small. But I reminded myself that we must mow weekly here. And the boys are leaving faster than I want to think. And we want to visit our boys who are scattered across the States.

Initially we thought we’d purchase this house to remodel and rent and move on. We aren’t sure, especially when we started with wanting land.

I cried when my son who had just brought his horse across country, sold it and exchanged his cattle dog with a stray puppy. The cattle dog would have room to run and of course cattle and horses to irritate. And Jeremiah would have the puppy he’s been begging to have. (That I will inherit in a few years. Ugh.) Another reminder that our dreams may not be God's. 

Escrow has closed. The house is all ours. And the settling in has started.
We redid the damaged wood floors, repairing holes  replaced with laminate and plywood, to make them blend with the old floors. They were gorgeous when finished.

We will paint the bright red bedroom, the pink bathroom tiles, and well the entire house.
But we can rest our heads on our pillows at night and call it ours.

Will it be the final move?
Who can tell?

Dreams. Changed.
Expectations. Adjusted.
Changes. Yes.
Decisions. Many.
Pressures. Extreme. (Perhaps another article will disclose this one, or maybe not.)
But God holds our hands as we adjust, shift and hopefully not crack under the pressure of changes.

Here’s the link to pictures of our new place.
And our new address is found in the contact information.

Thanks for stopping by.

Displaying all 5 comments

Thank you for the update, Sonya! You are a woman of strong faith. (And probably pretty good at painting houses by now.) But bombs going off every day! Whatever for? I don't envy you.

Oh, Sonya, what a journey you have been on! God and faith saw you through it and will continue to uphold you. They say, "Someday you'll look back and laugh," but in the meantime, you just have to sing and praise the Lord for all He is doing. I love reading your blogs, they are so real, as are you, so I know there is hope for me! Love you, Sonya, and wish I were going to see you on Sunday like Susan, Anne
P.S. I'm still planning on April.

Lovely story. I can't find the link to see your home. One day we will come see it! Enjoy! Love, Bobbie

I like your house, I see LOTS of potential. Talking about adjustments, most of my stuff, has been in storage for close to 5 yrs, we will be moving here pretty quickly into probably our final home. I keep wondering, what I have packed in all those boxes, is it really important stuff, or is it just things I really don’t need. I have found you can really live without a lot of “stuff”. I enjoy reading your blog. Hope to see you Sunday, Susan

I write about what you---
women, wives and moms---
about your family, faith and future.
I write about what's hard, what helps and what heals.
I show you how it's done. And not done.
I hold your hand as you find what matters to the Savior.
And let go of those things that mattered to you, but not to Him.
I write about what Him.
               Sonya Contreras

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Author of Biblical fiction, married to my best friend, and challenged by eight sons’ growing pains as I write about what matters.

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