The first time we moved down South, it was only grudgingly - for school, and just for two years. We came home to New Hampshire at every opportunity; once, we made the 1500-mile round-trip for a weekend. The morning after graduation, the U-Haul had already passed D.C. before noon.
Circumstances - a job, this time - brought us back to North Carolina a few years later. It was OK, not so strange and unfamiliar as before. Still, we were outsiders; New England was home, and after several years, we returned there.
One wintry day - we were living in Maine at the time - we heard James Taylor on the radio, singing “…in my mind, I’m going to Carolina…”. It got us talking about some things we missed and… enjoyed…about Chapel Hill. That summer of 1990, we moved back.
We still visited New Hampshire from time to time; but things change: old haunts disappear; people move, or pass away; familiar patterns fade from memory.
Once, years later, we almost moved back, even flying up for job interviews and house-hunting, but realized it didn’t feel like home any longer; we were just visitors.
Circumstances - a job, this time - brought us back to North Carolina a few years later. It was OK, not so strange and unfamiliar as before. Still, we were outsiders; New England was home, and after several years, we returned there.
One wintry day - we were living in Maine at the time - we heard James Taylor on the radio, singing “…in my mind, I’m going to Carolina…”. It got us talking about some things we missed and… enjoyed…about Chapel Hill. That summer of 1990, we moved back.
We still visited New Hampshire from time to time; but things change: old haunts disappear; people move, or pass away; familiar patterns fade from memory.
Once, years later, we almost moved back, even flying up for job interviews and house-hunting, but realized it didn’t feel like home any longer; we were just visitors.
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