The following is the first post in a series of out-of-sync recollections about my family’s move from Shelby Township, Michigan — a suburb one hour north of Detroit — to Spring Hill, Tennessee — a suburb 45 minutes south of Nashville. Our family has been blessed with an opportunity to live in a diverse, ever-growing metropolitan area; surrounded by a near-perfect blend of suburban conveniences, Appalachian foothills, green farm spaces, music, entertainment, restaurants, people, art, culture and history.
One year ago, today, our journey to the ‘burbs of Music City began. It was our last day living in Michigan. The immediate days that followed were a nomadic, whirlwind of exploring Nashville and Middle Tennessee, registering our children for school, closing on the home we purchased, meeting new friends at our neighborhood pool, comparing grocery stores and organizing our household. Today, we are still in transition and still make discoveries about our new community. I compare ourselves to tourists because there are times we experience things for the first time; just like those visiting Nashville and the historic southern towns that make Middle Tennessee so charming. We truly are tourists in our own backyard.
This was it. Good-bye Michigan.
So, our story begins the morning we exited Michigan. This was it. Our home in Shelby Twp. was now owned by someone else and proceeds were in the bank. Check. All of our belongings (with the exception of valuables and what fit into suitcases) were packed into a moving truck and were taken to a storage unit. Check. My car was on a trailer somewhere between Michigan and Tennessee; and would be delivered to me a couple days later in Franklin, Tennessee. Check. Mail forwarding instructions had been processed. Check. Meetings scheduled with school principals. Check. Reservations for the Opryland Hotel and Convention Center and for rental house in historic Franklin were confirmed. Check.
Our exit from Michigan was in sight. My husband’s Pontiac Grand Prix crossed the line. A box of cookies from Tringali’s Bakery on my lap, wide-eyed kids in the back seat, and a rear-view glimpse was all that was left.
Welcome to … Music City
Music City is a mere 45 minutes north of Spring Hill, TN, the suburb, we now call home. When we arrived on July 28, we lived as nomads for three weeks to accommodate closing dates on our old and new homes; and school start dates. We stayed at the Baymont Inn and Suites in Franklin, TN, the Gaylord Opryland Resort and Convention Center in Nashville, and a rental house in historic Franklin.
Our introduction to Music City included the Adventure Science Center, The Dog of Nashville for hotdogs, Cumberland Park, an Old Town Trolley Tour, and Savannah’s Candy Kitchen.
I watched from my window. Snowflakes flurried outside — mixing and mingling — with a carefree attitude. They encouraged me to let go of my worries. In my nightstand, I found an old journal I received from a forever friend nearly two decades ago.
Kate Parish 