Moving house is nothing like a holiday.ISTOCK
When we moved into our home,12 years ago,the maple was half the size. Now it’s taller than our roof. Its branches reach over our lawn,giant arms that feel like they’re saying to the world,“Back off,these humans are mine.”
I have felt nurtured by this tree. Shaded in summer by its lush green canopy. Guided through the seasons by the clever going and coming of its leaves:when they fall in autumn,an extra doona goes on the bed;when they sprout in spring,the winter coats go to the dry cleaner. Ever present,it’s like a member of the family. The strong silent one that never complains or make any mess,which puts it just below the dog in order of love.
It’s also the reason you might find me spontaneously weeping while doing the dishes,because we have just sold our house. And so,of course,we’ll be leaving our maple behind.
To be clear,I’m not sad about selling the house – that is very exciting. Yes,it has been a very big and hard decision to move on from the home we love. But we’re ready to create a new home and lifestyle that more befit a 14-year-old and the young adult she’s not far off becoming. It’s terrifying to think that in only four years she’ll be driving and travelling and using our house like a hotel. But it’s also exciting,and a privilege,to be intentionally designing our life to best support her.
But change is really hard. You can’t have new beginnings without endings,and I’m really bad at goodbyes. Turns out you can be excited and sad at the same time. And also utterly exhausted. Whoever said a change is as good as a holiday has never sold a house. Unless they meant the road trip we took to Canberra in 1986:eight hours of chronic carsickness in a stiflingly hot Corolla,with a stopover in Gundagai because the head gasket blew,is fairly comparable to putting a house up for sale.
The packing up of endless cupboards after 12 years. The scrubbing of every surface,like I was destroying evidence. Removing your own shamefully lived-on furniture for a fancier rented couch that no one is allowed to sit on.
And while I support eradicating teenager smells and Labrador hair,I’m not sure an artfully arranged throw on a bed laden with perfectly plumped pillows sells the best features of my – or anyone’s – home.
If I were to describe the reasons a family will be happy living in our house,I’d start with our maple. And then I’d explain that the stove is the perfect distance from the TV for cooking dinner while keeping an eye on the footy. That if you position your bed just right,you can see the sunrise from your pillow. That the best light for impromptu discos is in the downstairs bathroom. That you can see your kids playing in every corner of the garden,without them even knowing.
Jo Stanley with her much-loved maple tree behind her.Supplied
But then it occurs to me,and it’s strange to think,that the next family may not love footy or bathroom discos. They might not even see the beauty in a simple maple tree. We have only been custodians of this beautiful space – now someone else gets to find their own ways of making it theirs.
I’m excited for the new people,as they make memories in their new home. For us it has been host to three 50ths,a 40th and my daughter’s birthday parties from three through to 12. We’ve buried two cats and a dog (not literally – new owners be assured there is no pet cemetery out the back!).
We’ve watched our girl,who arrived here as a toddler bursting with pride at her new big-girl bed,grow into a young woman on the threshold of her own path – and her own living space. I’m excited for that change,too,imagining her with a career and relationships. And decision-making I have no say in.
So as we step into the house that will be the backdrop to this next phase,the unknown brings limitless possibilities. Perhaps our new home will come with another maple. Or a gum,or a cherry blossom. Or maybe I will plant a new maple,beside which I will grow into whoever I am to be – including overbearing mother to an adult child. Some things change,some stay the same.
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