Deep in the heart of Texas.

The move to Texas was long and difficult (we had a flat tire near Nashville and found all sorts of questionable items in each of our hotel rooms along the way), but as we sped past the New Braunfels welcome sign, memories from my childhood came rushing into my mind. I noticed the towering cement plant where my dad used to work off in the distance between New Braunfels and San Marcos, and I could immediately smell the clinker dust on his work shirts and see deer grazing in the bluebonnet fields on his commute.

This is the place where I remember our family being happy. We had a beloved community here, and New Braunfels was home to my favorite childhood memories. An unexpected surprise of moving back to this area is that I am now able to relive those sweet, cherished memories with my own children.

Like the cooing of doves that greet the morning sun. The crunching of pecan shells underfoot. The sweet, cold bite of Bluebell ice cream on a hot summer day spent by the pool. The honking of geese and quacking of ducks at Landa Park. The shrub trees and cacti lining the streets. Everywhere I go, my senses transform me to that little girl in her big brother’s cowboy boots who fiercely and resolutely loved her Texas.

It’s good to be back.

Our first week here, we drove past my old home, and I pointed out both my bedroom window and the shrub tree that hung over the ditch by the main road, where I would courageously swing over the ditch, pretending to be an explorer on a treacherous journey in a foreign jungle. The chain-link fence separating our house from our neighbor’s was where I would sit during the day, petting the neighbor’s black labrador, Lucky, through the honeycomb fence holes. I’d decorate mud pies made in an overturned frisbee using the eucalyptus leaves from the tree in the backyard.

We meandered down the Riverwalk in San Antonio, and I reminisced about the riverboat ride I took as a child with my family. (This was before I almost passed out from the heat, and we had to head home. I’m still getting used to the sweltering temps here. The first week we were here, I would feel a tickle on my arm and frantically swat at what I thought was a bug, only to realize it was my own sweat.)

We savored delicious bites at the Gristmill Restaurant in Gruene after trying on cowboy hats in a nearby store, and I showed the kids the view of the Guadalupe River below.

This was the place I felt safe and loved and accepted, and those happy memories cover me like a healing salve. I get to watch my kids explore the same playground where my friends and I climbed and raced, spilling girlish secrets and sugary dust from Pixie Sticks at my family’s going-away party before we moved to Alabama. I’ve taught them how to stomp on stubborn pecan shells to reveal the nut meat inside, just as I would do on my driveway under the pecan tree in our front yard. We’ve devoured burgers and fries by the Comal River after our studies, just like I did as a kid with my mom when we homeschooled. (Except that Pat’s Place—or Pat’s in the Park, as we used to call it—doesn’t have gluten-free options, so Tin Top Burger Shop’s our spot now.)

We’ve also shared multiple meals with our dear friends from Portland, who moved here a few years ago, and played Nintendo Switch in their upstairs theater room, every moment adding to our collection of memories we’re building for our own children.

The campground we’re staying at has been a pleasant surprise. We’d intended only to be here a small period of time before moving into a house, but there is something so special about this place that we have decided to stay a while. In the evenings, Kelley and I will take our binoculars and sit at a picnic table overlooking the adjacent pasture, watching the sun set over a family of deer grazing on tall grass. Every evening, we see a dozen or so bedding down after their meal, and the sight of the graceful animals in the golden hour never gets old.

There are food trucks and after-school snacks and a water feature at the pool and activities like karaoke and complimentary Saturday breakfast (which they have begun offering gluten-free options at especially for our kiddos). Liam and I have found a place in the campground’s “grand room” to practice bass and guitar together, and I’ve been able to prep larger meals in the full kitchen we have access to. But what we didn’t expect was the lovely community we’d walked right into as if we’d belonged forever. I’ll find the words to eventually explain what this has meant to our family, but it’s been enough to extend our grace for the RV life for the foreseeable future.

This Sunday, for example, we gathered with a couple of other families who’ve become our sweet friends under the shade of pecan trees over platters of fresh fruit and veggies. I led us in a few worship songs with my guitar, and one couple shared their testimony and all the miracles they’ve witnessed in their marriage. We prayed and laughed and chased the wandering shade patches together (much like we would chase the elusive sunshine in Portland). That afternoon, I baptized the mom and daughter of the third family in the crystal clear pool in front of our kids and friends. Yesterday, I sat for hours sipping coffee with other homeschooling moms while our kids played together on the playground. It’s a stark contrast and a welcome change from the loneliness and chaos we experienced in the D.C. area campground.

Even the dog is happy here. As lethargic and anxious as he was in Maryland, he now begs to play fetch and tug-of-war with his favorite frisbee in the dog park. He may miss the squirrels from the last campground and be confused by the hopping frogs he sees occasionally, but he is more at peace here than we’ve seen him in a long time.

I know the feeling, Ranger.

Texas makes such a lovely home, and it’s so good to be back.