Before actually moving to Vermont, how I envisioned our life here was a bit of a fantasy. I thought we would live in the country in a renovated farmhouse with a rambling old barn and lots of land. Dave and I would rid ourselves of life’s hectic pace and somehow not worry about money. Yes, we did end up living in a cute little farmhouse for a few years, but the experience turned out to be stressful and isolating. We weren’t cut out to be homeowners in the middle of nowhere and commute 30-45 minutes each way to work.
During that time, we had also lost a baby when I was five months pregnant, and I was in a terrifying bus crash a few months later. Life seemed really hard, and I remember questioning whether we had made a terrible mistake leaving Boston.
But things eventually got much better. We ended up selling our farmhouse and moving into a tiny rental in Burlington – a community we love – and became parents. Last month, we finally purchased a small house in a vibrant, close-knit Burlington neighborhood where Phoebe can grow up and make lifelong friends. I can walk to the office, and Dave can work from home.
Since we moved into our new house two weeks ago, I find myself reflecting on the past six-and-a-half years in Vermont. Life here isn’t exactly the romantic, carefree existence I imagined. It has taken several years to find our way, but it feels like we’re finally home.