It feels strange even to say that. So strange in fact that we haven't told many people. They know of course; word gets out. Also my kids wanted to tell their friends.
We have sold the farm to a lovely young couple of organic farmers with a growing family (two young sons and twins due this fall) who plan to farm crops and hay and hops and have a big garden and I am thrilled, utterly thrilled at the thought of their children growing up here as mine did, exploring the woods and making forts in the hedgerows, and experiencing the type of freedom that can only be found in the great outdoors.
And if I'm honest, that's also the reason I'm sad: this place has been home for 12 years, since we first moved in with a not-quite-three year old, a one year old, and a two-day old baby (Grace was actually born the day after we closed on the house). For the kids, it's the only home they have known...a stable, welcoming, solid constant in their lives. For me, this old rambling house with the clematis climbing up the kitchen window holds all the memories of childhood, all the firsts, all the scrapes, all the smiles, all the tears that are inevitable and precious.
So moving is, to put it mildly, bittersweet.