By the time I was eight years old I had lived in nine different homes in five different cities in two different states. My father was an adventurous soul who had spent his own youth moving from place to place while my grandfather followed the thread of construction work to wherever it led. Traveling was second nature to my father but my mother had grown up in the same house on the same street. While she mostly seemed excited about changing locations and seeing different people and places I think that she had become a bit weary of living without putting down roots. When my father died she quickly found a home that was affordable where me and my brothers spent the next many years growing up with a sense of deep connections in a neighborhood where everyone seemed to know everybody and safety was assumed. 

I enjoyed the security of living in the same spot and repeating the same journeys to school and church and stores. The relaxed routine of life was comforting after my father’s sudden death. My mother was wise to invest in a small but well built house near good people who would ultimately define who my brothers and I became. My childhood from the age of eight was predicable and overflowing with a sense that every adult I encountered was watching over me. 

I married a man who grew up on the same street from the time he was born. He lived across the from his grandmother and other relatives resided in houses only steps away. His mother had been born on that street and would stay until she was well into her forties when she inherited a larger home from one of her uncles in a different but nearby neighborhood. It was somewhat natural for both of us to seek a place to call home and then stay there for many years. 

We purchased our first house near Hobby Airport in Houston, Texas on Anacortes Street named after a city in Washington state. We were the “babies” on our block surrounded by neighbors with older children who had been settled there for awhile. Our wood framed home boasted three bedrooms and a single bathroom. The kitchen was large and airy, looking out on a backyard so huge that it seemed to go on and on forever. The once garage had been transformed into a den and a new spacious detached area for parking our cars and storing our hardware was just outside our backdoor. We had found a slice of heaven and imagined that we might live there forever.

Our little girls grew up on Anacortes Street ranging free with the many children who lived nearby. it was like a happy little village where neighbors looked out for each other and became like family. When the rooms of the house began to feel cramped we added a beautiful new den and a second bathroom while still having a yard so large that it was the envy of all who saw. We remodeled the kitchen and enlarged the bedrooms and felt undeniably content in our lovely home. 

Soon our daughters married and left for adventures of their own. The patter of grandchildren laughing and running through the long hallway kept the house bright and joyful but people who had lived there for decades like we had began to move one by one. We found ourselves surrounded by strangers who showed little interest in being neighborly. We reluctantly decided that it was time to move on when the two couples who had seemed like our surrogate parents made noises about retiring to other places. 

We looked to one of the suburbs of Houston for a new place to live and found a lovely house in Pearland. The building itself was magnificent and a thousand square feet larger than the one we left behind. Oddly the openness of the design made it more difficult to store our belongings and display our photos and art work but we eventually found places for everything we had brought with us. We spent the next twenty years making the structure a home. 

At first we felt somewhat lonely on our new street. We were working all day and so were our neighbors. We did not get the warm reception that had greeted us on Anacortes all those years before until one day a neighbor named Sonja stopped her car in the middle of the street to apologize for not taking time to greet us earlier. She was an outgoing woman who appeared to know everyone and she spent a great deal of time introducing us to the young people who lived nearby. We soon realized that we were the elders in our new locale rather than the new kids on the block.

Over time there has been a great deal of moving and change around us but in the present we have incredible people living near us and we often gather on holidays to celebrate our good fortune in living with each other in close proximation. We enjoy the sounds of children running and playing and laughing and watch the people walking up and down the sidewalks. It’s a cheerful place but few stay as long as we have. 

We took the tabula rasa of our big backyard and turned it into a landscape worthy of a painting. We built a large patio just outside our kitchen where we listen to the doves that roost on our roof and watch for hummingbirds and butterflies. We enjoy the passing parade of the people around us even as we always remember the folks from Anacortes, most of whom have died as they advanced in age. We are settled here and more likely than not will spend our own final years on this street barring some unexpected tragedy. It’s a good place to be.

I like the idea of putting down roots. After I left my mother’s home I lived in a couple of apartments before moving into my home on Anacortes and finally to the place where I now reside. I laugh when I think of how settled I have chosen to be and how happy it has made me. The benefits of living in the same place for a very long time are great. The two houses where I lived my adult life have been homes where the stories of my life played day after day. My history resides in the walls that will forever hold memories of who I am.