It was 14 years ago today that we arrived in Huntsville. Refugees from the North. The economy in Michigan had tanked (it’s still one of the worst in the nation) and BJ Bass had been offered an excellent job in Alabama. There were other opportunities, some each of us would have preferred. Bass wanted to go to New Mexico. I wanted to go to New Hampshire. Neither one panned out. No, that doesn’t sound right. Alabama was the first, and best offer, and we agreed that it could be a good place to live and raise our family.

So we loaded up the truck (boy, did we ever!) and moved to Huntsville. It was sixty-something degrees that February 2, and we sat on the deck eating doughnuts, waiting for the moving van to arrive. Bass and I worked hard to make the transition to a new place, a new culture, as painless as possible for our kids. Over time that effort became easier and easier, and though I’ll never feel like I’m from Huntsville, never feel like I could call myself a Southerner, it’s home, and I’m happy to stay. (Pardon the drizzle spots on the house picture — it’s trying to snow but coming out rain.)

OFC — That’s Obligatory Fiber Content — Not much appreciable knitting accomplished this week, but this was waiting for me on the kitchen table when I got home last night.

28 ounces of merino/tencel to spin, dyed by the Twisted Mother herself, Sandy Sitzman. Just the thing for a drizzly, dreary Friday.