Few things are sweeter

than anticipation, and then reunion.

The anticipation scale hit bottom with happy weights months ago, and since then I have tried not to count the weeks.


A different home every year for five years makes it hard to remember the color of the dirt, the smell of the trees in each. I remember this: Tennessee was the realm of dry wind and tall, tall trees, of hopeful mists, of the comfort of the mountains, of wood air, and of redemption.

We visited a year ago and you can read about hope here, and grab an overview here, and step into beauty here. Oh, this place, this place.

I'm resisting writing oh boy oh boy oh boy because that's up there with my 90's phrases like what on earth? but oh, there is joy jittering around inside me at the thought of going to one of the places that my heart likes. I haven't left my heart anywhere---I have all of my heart here,


but it can love more because of this place we are going. There, crowded with wafts of smoke, old barns, songs, dogs without leashes, and that exhilarating sound of tires on gravel. There, my sweet girls, my friends. We are going there.