A quick note to you all to let you know we made it to St. Francisville yesterday at noon — frazzled and backachey from the long drive, but … here, and happy to be so. Lucas made Julie stop the minivan shortly after we turned into my parents’ driveway so he could run the final yards and throw himself into his grandmother’s arms. It was a teary and joyful reunion. Above, a photo of Roscoe and me, and my very Southern breakfast — a Moon Pie — taken at a gas station south of Jackson, Miss. After gathering ourselves at my mom and dad’s house, we drove into town to show the kids their new house. It took about a minute and a half for Lucas to barrel through the thing, run out the front door, take a flying leap off the front porch, body-slam his mother and hoot, “I love it! It’s perfect!”

We unloaded the minivan and busied ourselves figuring out where the furniture would go when the unloading crew came over on Sunday morning. It really is a great old house — I’ll post photos later — and we’re lucky to have it. The camellias are in bloom in the yard. My cousin Melanie brought over a coffee maker and some Loisie cookies. Our great-great-great aunt Lois Simmons was known for making these fantastic pecan cookies, about the size of a quarter. I haven’t tasted them since my childhood (Loisie died when I was 10), but Melanie still makes them. I bit into one and it was a Proustian madeleine. I told Julie, “This is what my childhood tastes like.” The only thing missing was the aroma of a sweet olive tree, which Loisie had in her yard. (Here is a post about Loisie, including a photo of Loisie’s cabin, and of Loisie at her sink). I cannot imagine a better welcome-home gift than that jar of Loisie cookies.

Last night Hal, a neighbor in Starhill, the little community where my folks live, had a big jambalaya-cooking and bonfire at his camp by the pond. Julie was too worn out to go, but Lucas and I turned up to see folks and eat well. It was great — great to eat, great to see folks (“Are you thinking of moving this way? Wait, you moved here already? Today?!“), and great to be around a bonfire with Louisiana people drinking beer and eating jambalaya. Good times. Here’s Hal at work last night:

This morning I woke up and drove out to Starhill to meet the unloading crew, which is on its way as I type this (I’m having to update this blog at my mom and dad’s place; we won’t have Internet at the new house till sometime on Monday). Julie just texted from town to say that Lucas and Nora were bundled up and playing in the front yard, and came in to say, “We met this really nice man who told us to tell you that church starts at 10.” Love it. I walked Lucas and Nora around the block in our neighborhood near sundown yesterday. Nora held my hand and declared, in that policy-setting way of hers, “I’m going to say it for the third time: It’s BEAUTIFUL here!” Lucas sang, skynrdishly, “Sweet home, Loozyana… .” I think they’re going to be fine. Last night at the camp, it took five minutes for Lucas to make his first friend, an eight year old boy who’d just shot a coyote. Lucas thinks that’s the coolest thing he’s ever heard. Like I said, they’ll be fine.

It’s cold, crisp morning here. A gorgeous white blanket of frost covers the bottom below the cabin where my dad grew up, above Grant’s Bayou. I passed on by, turned off at my folks’ road, and stopped at the graveyard to say a word to my sister Ruthie, whose passing in September occasioned this homecoming. A vigil candle burned on her grave. I thanked God for her life and witness, and asked His help — and Ruthie’s prayers — that we may be good servants to Him and to her family. Our family.

Ours.