This is my new backyard:

and this is the view of my new backyard from my new porch:

There’s a swing, and a bird feeder, and something metallic that looks like WALL-E but is probably just a grill.

I’m moving to Iowa. There, I said it. Phew. I wasn’t sure how to break it to my readers. I considered breaking it slowly, after a couple of posts on corn and crinoid (the proposed, but not yet approved, state fossil) but in the end I’m too bursting-at-the-seams to keep quiet. I bet I learn how to sow seams in Iowa.

I realized, once Dan asked me to move, that I was ready to leave New York. Six years is a long time. Six years is how long the 480-pound woman lasted on her couch before she died. This is an unfair analogy. New York City has been more than a well worn sofa to me, and I’ve been anything but still. Maybe The City is the morbidly obese one, and I’m the couch, and I’m asking it to get off me? All I know is I’m ready to buy snap peas at the co-op and have three bedrooms for the price of one and shovel my driveway and decorate with dried flower topiaries in galvanized buckets and walk to my friends’ houses and have my own writing study and have my own tacky wind-propelled lawn squirrel and wake up next to Dan.

I’ve been reading literature on moving. In Boomer’s Big Day, Boomer, the family dog, “not understanding what a move entails, sets off on a journey of change.” I like that phrase, journey of change, and I like that it’s accompanied by a willingness to embark a bit blindly. Dan is on a journey of change right now too, on safari in Tanzania with his family and incommunicado for twelve days — I’m counting down his return on a little makeshift twelve square calendar, like it’s the twelve days of Christmas (which is great considering he’s Jewish). To celebrate new roots, and in honor of the journeys of change we all take (both unbeknownst and beknownst), I’ve decided to blog every single day. Every. Single. Day. So today is partridge in a pear tree. Oh yeah — I miss trees.

It’s a funny feeling to be bubble-wrapping glassware and quitting your job while your boyfriend is far far away, unreachably away, watching wildebeest migration. But this morning, I woke up remembering a video, a gift, that Dan made me a week before we met and fell fast in person:

and I smile and keep boxing books.


5 responses to “Danzania

  1. Your backyard is goddamn gorgeous!
    I grew up on five forested acres on a winding (dangerous in the winter) road, and live in an apartment now.
    I’m jealous.


  2. Wow! Big news. Congrats. I too long for a galvanized bucket on occasion.

  3. Congrats and Congrats!

  4. Pingback: Three Hennepins « TryBecca (You know you want to.)

  5. You left out the most thrilling part–you’re a half-block down the street from an enormous cemetery with an exotic literary history. And a towering Black Angel statue erected in commemoration of a doomed Czech girl mourned by her forlorn lover. No one knows how or why the statue turned from bronze to black.

    Your shit is about to get very “Poe,” my friend.

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