On the Road Again

Eureka Springs, Arkansas, is a charming town perched on the side of the Ozark Mountains. It's meant for agile pedestrians, not cars. Hidden trails, springs, grottos, cliffs and sinkholes abound. I am at The Writers' Colony at Dairy Hollow writing about moving which I am in the midst of . . .

I left the Twin Cities and Winter and good friends, managed to pare my belongings down to a 10 x 15 storage unit and hit the open road. Everything I need in the moment and for the next three months is in my car. I do wonder how I will feel about all the stuff in storage after three months. 

New digs

The horror is slowly passing. I mean the horror of moving: sorting, ditching, wrapping, packing, more boxes, more bubble wrap, labeling, moving, surrounded by boxes, unpacking, wrenched shoulder, backache, etc. There are still a few boxes unpacked but I'm living happily in my new space now. 

I have a few favorite spaces. An unexpected one in the kitchen where I found a spot for my grandmother's step stool. Now I sit there and have my coffee and breakfast in the morning. The kitchen has a 50s feel to it. I have a tiny porch outside the kitchen door where my painted bench holds flowers and herbs. Between the dining area and living room is a perfect space for playing music and music has already been played there with friends. 

The house is 100 years old, built as a four-plex. For some reason the first bedroom has a window between it and the kitchen. Why? And a window in the bedroom door. Again, why? I slept there and felt exposed so I moved into the tiny back bedroom and felt much cozier. The first bedroom is now the yoga/sewing room. There is a big open space holding the living room, dining room and music area. And a tiny winterized porch is now my studio. 

I'm in a small, cheerful neighborhood where the Mississippi River bends, high up on the bluffs. Parks, eagles, bike trails, a sweet little coffee shop, the river, the river. I've heard trains whistling but the other day I heard a steamboat which always gives me a thrill -- so deep, mournful, echoey and full of water. 

I'm happy here.