Finding Our Unicorn and Moving to Vermont

The rain that has been steadily falling for the last several days has momentarily let up. Sunlight shines down upon the saturated green grass, which slopes downward toward a thicket of larch and cedar trees. The dense branches are alive with a chorus of birdsong, which is interspersed by the sporadic cock-a-doodle-dooing of a neighbor’s rooster. In the distance, and just barely visible through the dissipating fog, the aptly-named Green Mountains rise majestically into the blue-gray sky.

This breathtaking view is one I have the fortune of seeing every day at my new home in southern Vermont, where I’ve lived full-time for the last month. I fell in love with the Green Mountain State in late-2022 when I spent a few weeks at an Airbnb in the neighboring town of Shaftsbury. The quiet, the abundance of nature, the slower lifestyle, all spoke to the part of me that was craving a change from the bustling suburbs. After mere days in the countryside, I felt calmer already, my mind clearer and less cluttered.

I’d intended to stay longer at the Airbnb, but an injury and power outage expedited my return to my hometown of West Hartford. Once a sleepy community that prioritized sustainability and the safety of its residents, I’d watched in dismay as it’d morphed into a “destination” city that boasted an ever-growing number of businesses, luxury housing complexes, and pedestrian fatalities. Everywhere you went, at all times of the day, the roads teemed with traffic, and it was difficult to write amid the near-constant rumble of my neighbors’ lawn services. The noise and proximity to others felt suffocating, and the onslaught of delivery vehicles and flashy shops and restaurants was an unending reminder of this culture of convenience and consumption that’s propelling us toward ecological collapse.

Needless to say, I’d outgrown my childhood town in more ways that not. So too had my parents, who were also desiring a change–from suburbia as well as their respective jobs. Tentatively, and with no definitive plans as of yet, we began to discuss the prospect of us moving to a smaller, quieter community where my parents could semi-retire and I could pursue my writing in a more befitting climate.

Living with my parents as a young adult is something I initially struggled with, subscribing to the societal notion that independence equals success. But life is hard, and, in this day and age in particular, lonesome, and having familial support as I’m getting established in my career and navigating ongoing health challenges has been invaluable. Besides, I love my parents, and the relationship we share is more meaningful than any other in my life. As much as I used to covet a place of my own, being here with them now, eating meals together and taking daily walks through our new neighborhood, feels so right that I can’t imagine it any other way.

It didn’t take long for Vermont to capture my parents’ hearts as it had mine, nor for us to settle on the town where we wanted to live. With a discouragingly low housing inventory, we were told we were looking for a “unicorn” and advised not hold our breaths. But in January of 2024, after months of scouring Zillow and Realtor.com, my mom beckoned me over to her computer to show me a new listing. The house was a modest, one-level post-and-beam situated on seven acres of mostly woodlands. It was just what we were in search of: small and simple, with ample land and privacy. The following day, we drove up to see it in person, walking around the property in ankle-deep snow and discussing the details with our realtor in the freezing-cold kitchen. My parents made an offer that same afternoon, and a week later, we had our unicorn.

Thus commenced a painfully long period of renovations during which we updated the house’s interior, installed geothermal and solar, built a detached garage, and transformed the unfinished basement into my own private quarters. Originally, the plan was that I’d move up once the house was ready and live on my own for a few months while my mama was finishing up at work; however, this became implausible once I began to struggle with my health–not only because I required regular visits to UConn but also because I needed my parents’ assistance with aspects of daily living as well as their emotional support.

As frustrating as all this was, the timing was pretty perfect, as I was able to receive the correct diagnoses and implement a treatment plan while I was still in proximity to my established care team. By early April, when my mom and I packed up our last few belongings and got ready to leave, I not only knew what I was dealing with but what I could do to try and manage my conditions. Still, the excitement that’d once filled me to the gills had been subdued by my health situation; when we’d begun our house search two years earlier, I’d been in a much different place, and it was hard not to compare the old Julia to the current me who was in pain all the time and needed to rest a lot.

As we backed out of the driveway, my mom and I took one last look at 54 Brainard Road. Neither of us are remotely sentimental, and what I felt as I gazed at the house in which I’d lived most of my life wasn’t sadness or nostalgia but readiness to close this chapter and move on to something new. Not that my time thus far in Vermont has been all that different than it was in Connecticut–I still spend the bulk of my days writing, reading, and managing my health–yet the calmness and clarity of mind that I experienced at the Airbnb have returned, and so too has a heightened sense of presentness and peace. Whenever I’m feeling overwhelmed or discouraged, I need simply to open my door and step outside into my new backyard, to inhale the fresh air and listen to the birds sing and remind myself of all that’s good in this life. Although I’ve lived in Vermont for barely more than a month, I can’t remember the last time I felt so at home.