Dirt Girl Diary: Rehoming in the Great Wide Open

This post is way past due but for prosperity sake, I'm catching myself up. This July the husboy and I moved once more to our dream location, Salida, Colorado. When we've mentioned this to some people outside of Colorado and our immediate friend circle, we get the question why...where again? We answer by listing all of the "-ings" that we have access to on a daily basis. When we tell actual Coloradans, we get one of two replies: "F-You. We love that place" or "Congratulations! We love that place. " Both mean the same thing. :) And so far, nobody we've met wishes they hadn't moved here. Bonus.

The move from Florida was challenging logistically and mentally. The courage to muster action was a master class in belief and I give all the credit to Ryan for drawing a line in the corporate sand. Florida wasn't home and never would be and we were feeling it in our bones. It was time to go no matter the job circumstances.

Though we've done enough traveling to cool mountain towns to know Salida was "it", moving is always difficult, no matter. I'd claim this time around was much easier than when we uprooted ourselves from Omaha since Salida is a familiar destination, as opposed to going to the great flat Tropical Unknown. This time though didn't go totally as planned. Despite pleading with the Universe to keep the Parents in line for a few days, I evidently didn't speak loud enough. I got the call from one of my brothers when we were deep into Texas and a long way from Omaha that my dad had fallen hand inured his tailbone (you may recall about this time last year it was my mom that fell). It all got handled by the grace of my siblings, thankfully, but it did add an extra layer of anxiety and guilt! And Dad is doing just fine, even at almost 90!

Fast forward, as we approach our 10th week in Salida, we've had many days of pure gratitude. From amazing mountain views out our door to now watching (and feeling) the seasons change is a blessing I never want to take for granted. I get to wear layers and socks! We've hosted a couple friends and even one racer from Iowa, Rick Blackford, who took on the Vapor125 race. We get to leave our house, on our bikes, to ride world-class trails–the same ones we've historically brought friends to over Memorial weekend. We get to fly fish gold medal waters when ever the fancy strikes. This all sounds like a lot of broadcasting but I assure you, it's more like a statement of disbelief. As in, really, this is our new home and these are our home waters, home trails? It's startling, honestly.