Roots

I lived in the same house for 17 years. The house I was brought home to days after I was born is the same one that I grew into a young woman in. A small three bedroom house with a stucco exterior. In the front yard grew three Fishtail palms where a Bottle-brush tree once grew before the strong winds of Hurricane Andrew tore it down. We had an oak tree in the back yard where my mom hung a bird feeder. I watched from my bedroom window, through pink and red rose bushes, as Quaker Parakeets, Painted Buntings and Blue Jays played and ate till their bellies were full. When we were young, my brother and I used old bed sheets to make tents in the shade of a bashovia tree that once grew there and we'd fly around our yard with wings we fashioned out of Eureka palm fronds. I can remember so many birthday parties there. Playing under that tree. As a young girl, I had my very own garden in the corner of the yard where I grew marigolds and anything else that could handle the south Florida heat. We knew almost all of our neighbors. Had pool parties at our house every spring and summer and Superbowl parties at their houses each winter. We attended each other's birthday celebrations and spent the night at each other's houses. During the summer, my friends and I would ride our bikes all day, disappearing from home, only to return for lunch, which my mom had ready for all the neighborhood kids, and finally for dinner after the street lights came on. When times were tough, my parent's and our neighbors behind us shared dinners and therefore the grocery bill to save a few dimes. We were a community. We depended on each other in good times and bad. 

During my senior year of high school, my parents decided it was time to move. The neighborhood was declining. It wasn't as safe as it once was and they knew the timing was right. They had recently purchased property in Tennessee and were making plans to build there soon after my dad retired. They soon sold the house and we moved into a smaller house in the Redlands, about 10 miles away. I lived there less than a year before leaving for college. My parents rented that home for 5 years before settling into their dream home in Tennessee. My siblings and I visited on long weekends, holidays and for summer vacations, but our house with the stucco exterior and the corner garden is what I remember most. That house, that neighborhood and all of the memories made there are very much a part of who I am today.

Years ago, when I decided to follow my heart to California, I knew it was a decision that meant I would be leaving everything I knew in Florida behind. My friends, my family. All the well-known comforts that being in one place for so many years offers, would be left behind as I began a new life on the west coast. And when Jared and I were married, I knew that I was beginning a life of travel. Never settling in one place for too long. Moving states every few years. As excited as I was for this new life of adventure, there was always the fear that I would never be able plant roots and watch them grow. For eight years, it was like this. Calling California, Virginia and Florida our home. It was just us and it was so much fun. Of course, sometimes in those first few years, there were times when I was homesick. When I missed my family and friends, but mostly, I loved the change and the newness of it all. The uncertainty and risk of making a life in a new place invigorated me. In those eight years, Jared and I learned a lot about what we want out of life. What we value. What fulfills us as individuals and as a couple and what we find important in making a happy life together. We became a strong unit. One. Never having to shoulder any hardships or burdens on our own. Depending on each other for strength and comfort and for so much happiness.

At a very important vineyard in California...

Cooking at CulinAerie in DC…

At Hogfish in Key West...

When Jared and made the decision to start a family together, we knew that we wanted a life of change and adventure for our children too. Traveling around this beautiful country and calling more than one place home. But there is something about having little ones that causes you to stop and wonder if the decisions your making are best for a family of more than "just us". Jared and I love the excitement that comes with change, but would our children? When Emerson was born, my fear of never being able to plant roots and watch them grow returned. Her childhood would be so different than mine. The warmth of home. The fondness of memories made in one place would be something she would know very little of. I couldn't help but wonder, if we continue on this path of adventure, would she be missing out?  

Then I thought about all the people I've met along the way. 

And all the love I've known. 

I remembered all the phone calls I received on Emerson's birthday. Family and friends wishing our sweet girl the happiest of days and sharing memories of how they felt when they first learned of her entering this world. How she had touched their lives. How happy they are to know her. I remembered one phone call in particular.
Angela called on that day like so many others, but what she had to say was a little bit different. 

Congratulations, she said. You made it through the first year. And I laughed. Not only because it was funny, but because she was right. That first year was hard. Harder than I ever imagined it could be. The months and months of sleepless nights. An infant that wouldn't nap. Weeks of constant crying. The loneliness that often crept in when Jared was underway. And Angela was there for all of it. She was on the other end of the line listening and assuring me, it gets easier, I promise. On those really difficult days, when I drove up and down our Key countless times in hopes that Emerson would sleep, I would call Angela. And Rachael. And Danielle. Jaclyn, and Alyssa. Paul and Ellen. They were all there. To lend an ear. To offer their wisdom. To share. To laugh. To divert. They were my community. My lifeboat. 

And then I remembered a letter Abby wrote to Emerson just days before leaving Key West. 

My Dearest Emerson, she begins. I plan, hope and pray to be a constant part of your life… I want to hear about your first day of kindergarten... your friends and boyfriends, your heartbreaks... your engagement, your pregnancies and your children...   

I look forward to all of your adventures, she ended.

All of your adventures...

It was in remembering that I realized, this life is exactly the one I'd choose for our daughter. Again and again. 

Because wherever we go, she'll know she's loved. Adored. She'll know there are people in her life that will love and support her through all of life's moments. She'll have her own circle of friends and of family that will always be there through the good times and the challenging ones.

 

She'll know the the damp heat of a Florida summer on her tiny shoulders. The pure joy of dipping her toes in the warm salty waters of the Florida Keys.

She'll feel the cool breeze of the pacific. Know the vastness of it's beaches. She'll run to the waves crashing on the shore.

She'll learn that home is wherever she is and whatever we make it.

I can remember years ago, learning about the Redwoods. The giant trees growing in the pacific northwest whose size has mystified so many people. One would think that a tree that massive would need very deep roots in order to grow and thrive. But that isn't the case at all. Instead, their roots span out in width, sometimes reaching 100 feet from the trunk. Intertwining with others. And this is how they grow. How they thrive.  As a unit. Hundreds of feet of intertwined, interconnected roots. Strong, only because of this interdependence. I love this. I'm so glad I learned about it all those years ago. 

So my worries of never being able to plant roots and watch them grow are a distant memory. Because they're there. Strong. Fortified. 

Being a mama has made me see that we are all mothers. Fathers. Teachers. Hand holders. And we need each other to grow and to thrive. 

My root system reaches out far. Across states and oceans. To our families. Our friends. Danielle, Paul, Tammy, Alyssa, Ellen, Abby, Vanessa, Rachael, Angela. And so many more. Giving love. Offering support. And Emerson will enjoy that surplus of love and strength. Since the day she was born, she's been growing roots. And they will continue to grow and grow.