The Art of Moving

 

Chloe Walchesky


The life of a military brat can be greatly contrasted to the life of a railroader’s child. Growing up I have experienced many moves. Changes in scenery and dialect have cultivated the way I see the world. With every license plate change and moving truck came trees of beautiful color and foreign mountain ranges.

Shady oaks and sandy stemmed palm trees lined the suburban neighborhoods in northern California. Hot cement burnt the feet of kids racing towards the ice cream truck. An endless amount of vibrantly orange poppies never ceased to light up the freeway exits. This warm town of mine was familiar and what I identified as home. I spent my younger years in a quaint home built in the 1930s. My next door neighbor would become my best friend. Ripping the wood fence down, I created an entrance between the two backyards. Adventures were had and many mysteries solved within our small spaces. She was an only child seeking a friend and I was a rambunctious trouble maker with friendship to give.Troublemakers is an understatement when explaining our youth, we colored on walls, played with worms and broke plenty of vases. 

I was less than thrilled to discover we were moving to a new home. Thankfully, I would be in the same state, just one town over. My new bedroom was painted with a faint yellow tone that resembled sunshine peaking on an adobe wall. This house was huge in my eyes, I had stairs to slide down and a big backyard with plenty of greenery. When imaging my childhood, this home on Eureka street comes to mind first. The ancient resident black cat with emerald eyes died a few weeks before the big move. 

As a railroad kid, I had the expectation to move, but never believed I would adapt to the art of moving. The first step to moving began with acceptance. I was thrilled. Washington? The state the president lives in? Surprised to find that we were moving to the evergreen state opposed to the white house state. I closely examined the decoupage globe on my shelf. Grabbing the home phone I dialed my best friend’s number, punching (530) as fast as my fingers could type. Goodbyes were swift and sweet, full of ignorance. I would not see my best friends for years following this move. Packing was a blur of excitement, my life fit into a million brown boxes. We loaded the canary yellow truck with precision. I sipped my bubbly soda and ran into the backyard one last time. I grew up in this house, swinging from the willow trees and sliding down the never ending stairs. Passing fruit fields and roadside orange stands, we left Sutter county.

The sun dimmed to an oceanic grey cast as we made our way into Oregon. Black berry picking and memories with old grandpa Bill ricochet in my mind. The drive continued upstate, we stayed the night in a kitschy Klamath Falls hotel. In the morning, I scarfed down a giant pancake from Starvin Marvin's diner. This trip felt like a family vacation rather than a change of atmosphere. The high desert was not how I pictured Washington. Where are the evergreen trees? In this town there was an actual mall, restaurants filled with pacific northwest decor and a Starbucks around every corner. I would be in 5th grade at a new elementary school. The idea of public school frightened me, what was it like? My whole idea of school up to this point was held within the familiar walls of my private school. The teachers were like family to me, I knew all of my peers. Adaptation is arguably the most challenging aspect within a move, this would ring true for me.

Scraped knees and skateboards wandered in through the gates of this elementary school. I walked to my classroom held in a portable building. Scanning the room I realized there was not a single familiar face. The room was warm and smelt of popcorn with no clear indication of why in sight. Picking up my feet and walking to a seat was my first step to making new friends, I thought. Immense chattering arose when the teacher announced that the seats were pre arranged. Finding the “Chloe” tag on the desk, I sat down. These desks had wobbly legs that made a peculiar noise when jostled with.

Bike riding became a favorite pastime of mine, the hills allowed for an intense rollercoaster of downhills and inclines. My parents surprised me with a baby blue bike with faint pink handles and a wicker basket upfront. The winter came swiftly and I deeply anticipated a white Christmas. I had never experienced snow in large quantities before this move. My closet was suited for warmer temperatures so in the fall, it received an update. I had never needed a winter coat living in California, but this year I received one. The jacket was puffy and tri colored with pink, blue and white. My brothers and I played in the first snowfall as if it were in a movie. Following middle child stereotypes, I chucked a ball of snow towards my older brother. Rosey hands and noses entered the living room frozen to the touch. 

After a year of new experiences we decided to stake our claim in a home. The realization that Washington was most likely our forever home sank in, and we were ecstatic. Once again we packed all of our belongings from the rental home in a moving van and hit the road. The new home was a few miles uphill, the view from the top was magnificent. A million tiny lights blinked their eyes as we stared down on the sleeping city. The Columbia river curved its way into our viewpoint for us to admire. Dark bamboo floors perfectly encased the living room. An aromatic overload of fresh paint wavered in. A kid that moves will always admire the smell of fresh paint. Our backyard was small but had good hills for rolling down. This home would see me grow from a meek middle schooler to a tall Sophomore in highschool. I loved my bedroom, weekend trips to Seattle and my farmers market adventures. Downtown was a hipster's paradise, I spent hours filing through the vinyls in the underground record store. My town was small enough to feel safe, but full of growth and opportunity. I picked out my dream college, Washington state.

This dream would come to an immediate halt when the news of a move came about. I had lived in Washington for 5 years and adored it, how could this be happening? News of the move came about the same week my guinea pig died. I was used to change but this was all so unexpected and sudden. Once again I was packing everything up, this time it was bitter. I was saddened to leave my friends and beloved town. I walked around the empty house wondering what life would hold next.

Nebraska was a state that had never once grazed my mind. What was in this landlocked state? I had no virtual idea of what was going on in the state of Nebraska. We entered the flat state with no expectations of what to see. I was astonished by the lack of trees and stores. I had never lived anywhere quite like this. My new home was unlike anywhere I had resided before, I had a basement and lots of land. The porch looked like it was staged for a hallmark movie in the Midwest. It was my junior year of high school, everyone had already made lifelong friends. I walked into the school without a care in the world. My goal was to graduate and move swiftly. Quickly, I made friends to my surprise. Never would have I guessed that I would find friendship with people in this foreign town.

The adaptations to small town living included finding adventure in minute things. Longboarding down empty roads and late night slushie runs occupied my weekends. Slowly but surely I was starting to think maybe Nebraska isn't the worst place I could be right now. By senior year I had made friends that were so very precious to me. Goodbyes senior summer were the hardest ones of all, though a majority of my friends left a few stayed local with me. My next move is approaching soon, this time it will be a solo trip to a university. I am thankful for the adaptation abilities moving gave me and it is sound to say that I wouldn't trade them. I have a solid understanding towards the art of moving, and I'm ready for my new quest.