Before New Years, I left my host family in Pauanui for a few days to return to Devonport and start preparing for the journey home. I'm glad I did, because those few days alone cemented just how much Devonport feels like my home. In a year, I've grown as fond of (if not more) this little village than I did in five years living in Chapel Hill. Strangely, I sometimes felt more at home in Devonport than I do in Horse Shoe. Maybe that's what happens when you choose a home rather than grow up in it. I felt ownership over the space there; I felt embraced by the community. I enjoyed seeings moms from Stanley Bay School around town, waving to each other in acknowledgement. I liked that the baristas at Corelli's knew all of us au pairs, and that the librarians smiled in recognition when I came in for another book. In many ways I feel more known in Devonport than I do back here in WNC-and now I've left. It seems that as soon as I get comfortable somewhere I uproot myself, some sort of subliminal aversion to the stability I consciously crave.
Of course, I'm incredibly thankful that I have my home to return to (don't worry, I have a whole post coming about that)! I will never be able to sever my ties to the Appalachians, nor do I want to.
But a part of me will now also long for the salty spray of the Hauraki Gulf, the long arms of Rangitoto stretching steadily along the horizon. Pohutukawas reaching tentacled branches out across sand and cliff, whispering tropical rain shimmering against the sun.I will miss the sound of seagulls and the tuis in the trees, sunsets behind the Harbour Bridge from atop Mt. Vic. I will miss the Sky Tower welcoming me home from every road trip, and the litres of flat whites lovingly sipped from countless cafes. I carry home with me the sun and sky of Aotearoa, the rolling farmlands and rainforests and majestic Southern Alps, and a fondness for sparkling ("spicy") water and Tip Top ice cream. Amongst my clothes and cards and souvenirs I have packed memories of plane rides and long walks and belly laughs in hostel beds, of car wrecks and sunburns and fruitless quests for waterfalls. I will cherish the photos, the ticket stubs, the callouses. I will write to my friends in Germany, Austria, Sweden, France, and those still in NZ. I will move on to other adventures, forever tethered to my home at the end of the world.
Of course, I'm incredibly thankful that I have my home to return to (don't worry, I have a whole post coming about that)! I will never be able to sever my ties to the Appalachians, nor do I want to.
But a part of me will now also long for the salty spray of the Hauraki Gulf, the long arms of Rangitoto stretching steadily along the horizon. Pohutukawas reaching tentacled branches out across sand and cliff, whispering tropical rain shimmering against the sun.I will miss the sound of seagulls and the tuis in the trees, sunsets behind the Harbour Bridge from atop Mt. Vic. I will miss the Sky Tower welcoming me home from every road trip, and the litres of flat whites lovingly sipped from countless cafes. I carry home with me the sun and sky of Aotearoa, the rolling farmlands and rainforests and majestic Southern Alps, and a fondness for sparkling ("spicy") water and Tip Top ice cream. Amongst my clothes and cards and souvenirs I have packed memories of plane rides and long walks and belly laughs in hostel beds, of car wrecks and sunburns and fruitless quests for waterfalls. I will cherish the photos, the ticket stubs, the callouses. I will write to my friends in Germany, Austria, Sweden, France, and those still in NZ. I will move on to other adventures, forever tethered to my home at the end of the world.