Roots

This morning I spied a squirrel zipping from limb to limb in one of our two redbuds in the front yard. The commotion jostled a few golden yellow leaves loose, sending them drifting gently to the ground. Although seemingly nothing special, it made me pause and smile because of the change it symbolized.

Amy and I planted those about a year and a half ago where nothing was before. We specifically picked redbuds because they are Oklahoma's state tree. They went into the ground as spindly tangles of branches staked up to protect against the wind, clearly with potential to thrive, but still too weak to support anything.

A year and a half after planting those redbuds, and nearly three years after moving in, we feel real roots growing here. We have good friends throughout the neighborhood, the sort of people with whom we celebrate births, mourn deaths and travel around the world. We go to our favorite restaurants around the corner, end up befriending the owners and maybe even influencing the menus. There's a sense of community taking hold, and it feels good to be part of it.

Our jobs are changing for the better. Much better, in Amy's case - but that's her news to share in due time. Family is coming here for at least one, hopefully two, holidays. It'll be our first time to host a McPrince Thanksgiving or Christmas. I can already imagine the joy of seeing our giant dining table covered with a lovingly prepared meal and surrounded by family and friends.

Somehow, we've turned the once-trashed shell of our house into a warm, vibrant, inviting home. Our late friend Richard once said, rightly so, that the neighborhood "still had a little West Virginia in it." Now that same neighborhood has a little momentum in it instead.

And this year, those trees out front - trees that'll stand long after we're gone - are sturdy enough to support a squirrel. Maybe next year, it'll be a nest.