… Of the Cascades, of The Dalles, of Hood River, of moving out of my house, of becoming a landlord… I have officially lived in Portland for a month now, with the vast majority of the recent stress and madness is in the rear view.
The months leading up to the move were painful, and while it hasn’t been peaches and cream since then (such as an ant infestation and the water heater dying within the first week my tenants moving in, and our dryer at the new place dying within the first week), the peace of coming home to this other adorable little house with my boyfriend, three cats, and now three chickens mitigates all of the stress.
Sure I now commute 2 hours every day and live in a more dreary climate (most depressing spring EVAR), but man, I dig it. The vicinity to everything happening in the city (such as the Timbers game the other night), the eclectic neighborhood, the amenities… hell, even going to the grocery store is a million times more fun because THERE ARE ACTUALLY ATTRACTIVE PEOPLE THERE. And people are fashionable! I know, I know. The Dalles is a fashion hub, what with its lone Maurice’s and the janky old JC Penney with the glory hole change rooms. But I actually see people who dress like I do! I don’t stand out like a sore thumb!
Did I mention the chickens? I love my chickens. Inherited with the house, our three hens are now named after the Golden Girls. Rose, the little red hen, is the most social and also the one who, up until we built them an enclosure, was most prone to wander the neighborhood. Ruth, the big sassy black hen, has the biggest mouth and will yell her little head off if the other two escape. Blanche is a orangey-buff hen with a black tail, and she’s the most reticent out of the girls. The first two will gladly stop, lower and flatten their backs to be pet. With Blanche it only happens every so often. But watching them take dirt baths or fight over worms or chase us around the yard is the most entertaining thing ever. I greet them every day by going out the backdoor and saying, “Hello ladies!” Barf-inducingly cute.
The cats have adjusted fairly well. The first few days were clearly traumatizing and I felt like an awful cat mom by moving them, but they’re tough. Even my nervous, anxiety-ridden cat hangs out in the open a million times more often than she used to, and has begun curling up with us every time we might sit down to watch TV.
And of course, living with Sean has been nothing short of great. For a guy who had only one pet growing up (a hamster named Jackie), he’s taken on caring for and cleaning up after 3 cats and 3 chickens remarkably well. SO MUCH POOP. But living with him has made the word home an entirely different thing, and we have the. best. time. together. Even chores are fun. It’s ridiculous.
After 5 weeks the house is almost completely decorated (quite sensationally so, if I do say so very biased myself), we’ve hosted a giant party and an intimate brunch, started cleaning up the yard and landscaping what will be an epic veggie garden, and have met a number of the neighbors. It feels so domestic. So idyllic. So nice.