Next Thursday is the three year anniversary of the fire. Three years, how is that even possible?
What's even more bizarre is that this month marks the point in time where we will have lived in our new house longer than our old one. We moved into our home in March 2006 and lost it August 2008. We moved back in February 2009. It's now August 2011. It doesn't feel at all like we've been home as long as we were in our new house.
My theory is that the other house will always be with us. I call it the ghost house. When I'm talking about it, I still point to exact locations as though whatever I'm talking about should still be in that same spot, and it is, in my mind. We've lived on Sweetwater Drive for over five years, and it's impossible to separate the two homes, even as we become more comfortable in our new house.
In a way I feel like I am finally back to the place we were when the fire happened. It was the third year for many of our plants, and this is the third year as well. I'm irrationally excited about next summer to see what happens once we get beyond that three year threshold.
Three years also feels like the appropriate amount of time to finally feel settled. You start to feel like you know a space, know its quirks, let go of some of the things you thought you'd fix but never got around to doing.
I am feeling at home in my house, if only the wildfires would stop for the summer. It's been a really bad season in the lower elevations (from my perspective), and I am ready to stop seeing smoke every time I step out my front door. Those are the moments I regret our decision to move back home.