Thank you to everyone who commented on my last post. I’m feeling inspired. Luckily we’re heading into a long weekend in these parts so I can spend some nice refreshing time sat at my glorious desk and writing lots of posts.
One thing a few people mentioned is that talking about my non-knitting life is fine, which is something I’ve struggled with before when writing here. I try to find the line so I don’t overshare (I can be prone to it) but I think I’ve stayed too far over on the wrong side. I’m going to be more open about things going on – within reason, of course.
In April I went back to England, as I’ve mentioned before. It was my first trip back there after emigrating. It was a strange, beautiful, and busy time and I’m still recovering from the huge amounts of socialising I did there. I came back inspired right down to my toes, and if I show you a few pictures of my place of origin you might see why.
Weymouth and Portland are a very strange set of towns. Weymouth is a beach town; a tourist resort that’s semi-comatose in the winter and unbearably packed with sunburnt people in the summer. Portland is the island (tombolo) that hangs off the edge of the town, and it is where I spent the first sixteen years of my life, at which point I stormed off to live with my Dad in Upwey (a village on the outskirts of Weymouth).
Living in Dorset comes with its own strange truths, and though I don’t miss living there, I love going back. It’s beautiful. It’s steeped in history. It’s really, really strange.
The best part about visiting (beyond seeing the people I love and miss) was coming home. Stepping off that plane and back onto Canadian soil – or concrete – and realising that I did it, I made it here. I moved countries and it worked out.
I’ve been here nearly two years now, plus an extra year back in 2012 when I came over the first time. I know I belong here, but I will never forget the place that made me.