One year . . .

We've been here in Georgia for one year now.

I came from the land of humidifiers to the land of dehumidifiers. I used to plow my way through snowy canyons in low 4-wheel drive and now I slosh through several inches of heavy rain, unable to keep the wipers going fast enough. I've graduated from kitchenette to real kitchen and I'm just getting better and better at making food - of course, it helps when there are numbers on the oven's temperature dial. I can (usually) find my way around in a city that doesn't have a numbered grid street system. I can let the dog out whenever he wants (even if it is just to chase a squirrel for thirty seconds before coming straight back inside). I've been bitten by fire ants, seen vultures on the side of the road and driven by bloated armadillo corpses. I've eaten my fair share of fried chicken. I still haven't had boiled peanuts. I don't know if I've said "ya'll" yet, but I don't think I have.

I don't think becoming a Southerner happens in one year, though.


These are the deer that come visit our backyard almost every day. One of these days, that momma is going to kick Judge in the face while he tries to chase them out of the yard. They are really losing patience with him.

Coming Soon: A Day in the Life of a Judge.