Thank you for being my home for the past seven and one half years. The neighbors were great. The mountains . . . ah, fabulous . . . supplied ample hours of year-round hikes complete with nearly tame deer, one very surprised bobcat, too many birds to count, and a few bears that felt too close.
My children were born within your city limits. I found a school that I loved for them. I cemented friendships that will transcend time and distance.
I never quite felt comfortable calling the university students first, second, third, and fourth years. And, well, although you call it "grounds", it is a campus. Mr. Jefferson failed to completely turn me to his terminology.
While I am now stuck in the limbo of living in someone else's house until ours is truly ours, I do not long for the one lane bridges, unpaved roads, or rolling hills that fade into blue. This flat land of the Gulf Coast calls to me, welcoming me home with the lure of fresh seafood, soft sounds of jazz, and breezes that bring moisture from muddy rivers.