Well, we are here, officially residing in Lookout Mountain, Georgia.  The sea of boxes has been parted to sides of just two, three remaining rooms, and dwindles daily.  K. has informed me that I’m becoming a good mountain driver, and the drive thankfully already feels a bit shorter up and down the mountain.  We might have found a church our second week trying (hooray!) and I liked the grocery store we shopped in yesterday– although produce prices still hurt since most of them are coming from California.  Last week we tried the Chattanooga farmer’s market too.   The other night a neighbor was at a farm and brought us some tomatoes and a watermelon from the farm.  It was so thoughtful and we appreciated the Southern hospitality.  This was the kind of watermelon that I grew up with– black seeds, oblong, HEAVY, and juicy sweet.  I had to teach M. how to eat it, which seeds to spit out, because she has only eaten seedless watermelons.  But the watermelon isn’t the only thing that reminds me of times past.  You see, this street, well our street is like a neighborhood that was forgotten as time sped along.  The entire street is like one playground.  We’ve been blessed with kids at our home, instant friends for our girls, children not minding our parted-sea of boxes, playing daily here (and right now!), as well as all around the neighborhood.  We’ve been blessed with amazing families who are our neighbors where property lines don’t mean much, if anything, a helping hand is given with a genuine smile, and we couldn’t feel more welcomed by them.  This street, this special wonderful place that I’m convinced exists in very few places today, and, if able, would be on the endangered species list, has also been the redeeming factor for me.  Moving across the country has been very challenging, but I’m learning to navigate this new life.  And as K. reminded me the other day, I’m becoming a better mountain driver– I’m learning these roads and making them my own.  It just takes time.