Moving To a New Home

Little did I know 7-year-old me would soon leave the house that built me. Of course my parents had told me several times, “Figure out what toys you want to bring to the new house,” but I'm not sure that is what I was worried about the most.


My parents sat me down to tell me the news that we were going to be moving to a new house in Veneta, Oregon which was about an hour away. This new house would be closer to my mom’s work which is what my parents wanted. Being the 7-year-old I was, I had no idea where this Veneta place was but all I knew is that it was too far from our house here in Mapleton, Oregon.


I could not wrap my head around the fact that my parents wanted to move when we had all of these amazing and fun things to do where we already lived. Did this mean no more boat stories at the coast from Nana or spending time with my parents in the backyard?


At this time I was living that only child life. It was just my parents and I with a couple goldfish here and there. We had a big apple tree right in the middle of our backyard with a garden alongside where I attempted to help my mom water her zucchini and watch her pick beautiful rhododendrons. There was a giant swing set on the other side of the big apple tree where my dad and I saw who could get the highest on the swings without snapping the entire structure in half.


Right next door to us lived my Nana, who I visited every day after school and on the weekends. Our days were full of tree climbing, eating peanuts on the back porch, playing countless card games (which she never let me win), attempting to ride bikes with no hands, and seeing how fast we could play patacake.


The clearest memory I have is whenever my Nana and I had a free day she drove us over to the coast, where I always got mint chocolate chip ice cream in a bowl and she got chocolate ice cream in a cone. She and I took our ice cream and walked down to where the boats were moored in the bay. I remember asking her a million questions about each boat and she told me a story about each one. Hanging onto her every word I believed every single story she told me.


You could say my Nana was my best friend.


But would I lose all of this once we moved to the new house?


I remember helping my mom, the night before move-in day, pack last-minute items in boxes. My mother asked me if I was excited to move to the new house. Being as stubborn as I was, I replied by telling her since Nana was not going to be living next door to us anymore that I wasn’t going.


Being the reassuring mom she is, she explained to me how many new friends I was going to meet, how we get to make new memories at the new house together, and that I will still get to see Nana and crack peanuts with her whenever I pleased.


Maybe this moving fiasco wasn’t such a bad idea but I still had my doubts.


Then move-in day was upon us. As I sat in my booster seat looking out the window as we headed to the new house, I remember feeling heavy-hearted. I did not want to leave what was so familiar to me. Leaving all I have ever known seemed too overwhelming for a 7-year-old.


As soon as my family and I arrived at the new house, my dad grabbed my hand and took me to the backyard. The first thing I saw was a hot tub. I looked up at my dad and thought maybe mom was right, we will have no problems making new memories here.