When I was younger, I never cared much for the woods, or for being outdoors at all. Growing up just outside of Boston, the western part of Massachusetts felt like the wild west to me. I attended college here feeling as though it was going to be a tiny blip in my life — four years in Amherst, unwillingly, then back to the busy, familiar city life. I never thought I’d want to stay here. I certainly couldn’t have imagined never wanting to leave.
I’ve moved seven times in the past six years. Some moves are filled with excitement and anticipation, a desire to shed the old and embrace the new. Others are colored by sadness, by what I’m giving up, what I’m leaving behind. In these past six years, while all of those moves have been to new apartments in new towns and new neighborhoods, there has always been an air of familiarity around me — the community I know, the restaurants I love, the places I’ll never get tired of hiking.
Embarking on a move to an area I’ve never spent much time in, in a neighborhood I’m almost wholly unfamiliar with, is terrifying to me. But what’s been plaguing me even more lately is the idea of leaving this place behind, even temporarily. While I physically grew from an infant to an adult in my hometown, I feel more like I grew up in western Massachusetts than anywhere else. I finally found a sense of belonging here, made friends that will last my entire life, met my fiancé, adopted my cat and dog, allowed myself to truly grieve the loss of my mother for the first time, faced myself, who I was, and who I wanted to be. I found who I am here, in these woods, surrounded by these mountains, valleys, and rivers.
I console myself with the understanding that I am undertaking this journey for all the right reasons — to be closer to family and friends, to spend more time with the people that I love. As much as I understand that, I can’t help feeling like to do so, I’m forced to leave a piece of myself behind.
This week, as I rejoice in those small moments of connection with the land around me — taking an extra moment at night to marvel at the stars shining so clearly in the sky, hearing the wind rustle the dense trees in the forest, watching the deer trot through the hayfield early in the morning — I find myself appreciating them in ways I never have before.
I am apprehensive of all the changes that I face ahead. But as I adapted once the first time I arrived here, so I will adapt again. This place, these mountains, these valleys, these rivers, and this earth, will always be here. I may move around but they will be here, firmly planted, established, awaiting my return. And I cannot wait to return.
I understand your feeling because I moved here from mountains, valleys and a countryside environment. They are always a part of me. Leaving those places made possible to develop a part of me that wouldn’t had a chance otherwise. Yet, I feel completely whole only in front of my mountains.