Destination Finally Reached

Goodbye Little Rock, Arkansas...

...Hello Sanford, North Carolina!!

The first move I can remember was the one just before kindergarten, when the Army moved us from Aurora, CO, to Ft. Knox, KY. Even though it was my third move as a child, memory strangely develops with age. Why is it that we have not been gifted with infant and early childhood memory? So interesting. I can’t recall the actual driving, but mental pictures of arriving at our rental home that Dad had picked out weeks prior stand out. The tall white pillars in the front, the large lawn surrounding the house, the long driveway approaching the garage, the dense forest in the back—first impressions last longer when memories associate with them.

Even stranger is knowing Caleb won’t remember either of the moves he’s encountered in his first nine months of life. Yet I will have more than first house impressions to define this Arkansas-North Carolina move: Summit and Caleb seemingly bonding throughout the packing and moving process, Keith living in Nashville during the last month of our Little Rock apartment life (and driving the 26-foot yellow diesel Penske truck from Tennessee to Arkansas, then back through the Volunteer state and on to North Carolina—all in 3 days), my mom's trooping with us on our crazy journey (and babysitting Caleb on our night in Nashville so Keith and I could visit the Grand Ole Opry),

driving the 2001 Subaru almost nine hundred miles with the check engine light on, ordering Caleb's first Happy Meal as my McDonald's lunch…the whole time wondering at what moment Caleb would decide to graduate from Army crawl to real crawl.

North Carolina: the more-than-two-and-a-half-year ultimate destination for the Hobarts. Until May 2009, I had never stepped foot in this basketball-crazy state. Now Caleb will get his first rural-living experience, surrounded by bugs and all. Maybe, if we’re here long enough, he’ll remember splashing in his “mushroom baby pool” I will inflate and fill this week in the 90 degree weather. Maybe he’ll remember going to the lake beach just down the way to wade, play in the sand, and watch the boats. Maybe he’ll remember going to the local produce farm’s pumpkin patch this fall. But probably—no distinct memories at all, at least none that aren’t implanted by digital photos and movies. Our little Texan, who for a few months was an Arkansan, will now begin to become a Tar Heel.