The Homes That Made Us

Before we move forward—before the boxes are packed and the road leads us to South Carolina—I find myself wanting to pause. To look back. To honor the places that held us before we ever imagined leaving.

Because these weren’t just houses.

They were the backdrop to some of the most formative years of our lives. The places where we learned, stretched, struggled, celebrated—and slowly became the family we are today.

Northern Virginia

Our first home.

The one that made everything feel official. The one that welcomed us into the “joys of homeownership” almost immediately.

Within days of moving in, we were replacing toilets—multiple. Not exactly the glamorous start you imagine when you get your first set of keys. And then there were the unexpected moments… like the time I had to pull dead birds out of our air ducts after they found their way in and couldn’t find their way back out. It was messy, humbling, and very much a crash course in what it really means to own a home.

But that house taught us so much.

It’s where we learned how to save, how to budget, and how to take on projects ourselves. We poured time and effort into a full kitchen remodel and a master bathroom renovation—learning as we went, making mistakes, and figuring it out together. We even built a patio out of stones my sister didn’t want, turning something discarded into a space we used again and again.

It’s also where we became parents.

First to our dog, Raya, who made us a little family for two years. And then, in 2019, Oliver was born—and everything changed. That house held our earliest days of parenthood, the sleepless nights, the quiet moments, the overwhelming love that comes with it all.

We lived through COVID there, too. A strange, uncertain time—but one that, in many ways, drew us closer to the people around us. We were lucky to have friends right across the street, and in a season of isolation, we found connection. We learned how to show up for our neighbors, how to reach out, how to build community right where we were.

And we walked. Every day.

Through the winding paths that connected neighborhood to neighborhood, we pushed strollers, walked the dog, and soaked in the rhythm of daily life. Those simple routines became some of our most cherished memories.

But even in the midst of all that goodness, something was shifting.

The data centers started creeping closer. The traffic increased. The open space that once surrounded us began to disappear. And slowly, quietly, we realized—we wanted more.

More space. More land. More room to breathe.

And so, we left.

Richmond Area

If our first home was where we learned, this one felt like where we settled.

And yet, the “joys of homeownership” followed us here too—just in slightly less dramatic ways. This time, it was smaller fixes… like replacing the inner workings of a few toilet tanks instead of the whole thing. Progress, right?

But unlike our first home, this one didn’t need us to transform it. It was already beautiful—thoughtfully designed, complete, and ready for us. Instead of major renovations, I found joy in the smaller details: painting rooms, creating a cohesive color story, and adding touches that made it feel like ours. A shiplap accent wall here, a new palette there—simple things that somehow tied everything together.

This is where we began to truly host.

Ryan learned how to smoke incredible meat, and our home became a gathering place. We hosted Fourth of July cookouts for his family—full of good food, laughter, and the kind of memories that linger long after everyone leaves. It felt special to create a space where people wanted to come, to stay, to celebrate.

Our days here have been slower.

Neighborhood walks that turn into evening hangouts. Kids playing until the light fades and bedtime gets pushed just a little later. The kind of community that feels easy and natural, where everyone is happy to be exactly where they are.

And then, our family became complete.

In 2024, we welcomed Ruby—filling our home in a whole new way. More noise, more love, more life.

We had more land here, too. Enough to start dreaming a little bigger. We planted a garden, watched it grow, learned what worked and what didn’t. And in the process, something became clear:

We didn’t just enjoy having land. We wanted more of it.

More space to grow. More room to build. More opportunity to create something lasting.

And that realization—the quiet pull toward something bigger—is what’s leading us to what’s next.

These two homes gave us so much. They shaped us, stretched us, and prepared us in ways we didn’t even realize at the time. And while it’s not easy to say goodbye, there’s a deep sense of gratitude that comes with looking back.

Because every step, every lesson, every memory…has brought us right here.