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When we first started the building process for our house it was last November.  The Husband cleared the acre of land of most of the trees and there we stood in the clearing.  A place that we dreamt about to be our home.  Quite honestly, at that point it felt like more of a far-fetched idea that we had.

One day the foundation was poured and we stood in the middle of the basement looking around and thought, this is happening. I could see what might be one day but it still felt like forever away.  I would turn and go back to what I knew as home for the past nine years.

After that we started driving by almost daily to see what had transpired that day.  It was like watching a movie in very slow motion for months.  We would stand on the floor with no walls surrounding us one day and the next, we had an actually doorway to walk through.  There was a strangely warm day this past spring where I took a glass of wine and the Husband took a cigar and we sat on the floor of our home.  That was what it was starting to feel like.  It had walls and no roof but I sat up against the plywood in the living room and we dreamt out loud.  We could stare up to the open sky and see only the exterior walls but it was starting to BE something.

From there we gained a roof and actual doors.  Windows that closed out nature completely.  We gained studs that defined rooms and walked people through our house pointing out where everything would go.  We wrote on the studs of each room, words that would be covered up for a lifetime but we would know they were there.  Something that was just for us.

We would go every night and walk through our home and I would run my hands along the walls as drywall went up. Finally we couldn’t see from one end of the house to the other and when the front porch was built we would sit there for a while instead of going back to the apartment.  We would listen to nature and the trees.  We would listen to what our new neighborhood was.

Since my husband built the back deck we now go every night, do our walk through and then sit out there.  We stagger ourselves on the steps and we stare out in amazement at the big back yard. We talk about the countdown of days till we can move our belongings in.  The paint is on the walls and the flooring is covering the messages we have been writing on the sub floor back and forth to the workers.   More stories built into the parts of our home that will become invisible.  The things we spent months picking out are now being brought in boxes and put in their place.

I’m coming to realize, a place that was once just trees and dirt, has slowly just become our home.  I hate leaving there at night.  I hate walking into my apartment which is starting to feel foreign.  Without knowing it I have slowly been disconnecting myself from one and putting myself in the other. I have slowly been connecting with our house as we have learned every inch of it.  So in a little over a month when I go to move our stuff in it won’t feel weird.  It is a place that already holds memories. It has been a long road and we are closer to our destination.