So, this week I'm going back to New England for ten days.

It's a bit of a funny feeling. It's been ten months since I moved back to Canada. I don't know how it will feel to go back.

Yesterday I was talking on the phone to the woman whose home I lived in when I first moved to New Hampshire. It seems like only yesterday, though it was over three years ago, that I got her and her family's names by email and tried to imagine what it would be like living in this strange place, on a farm, with these people I'd never met.

Now it's three years later. I'm back where I started, in Canada. In Toronto. And yet I'm not. I'm a completely different person than when I left for New Hampshire. Much of that is due to the things that happened there. It was a difficult time of my life, one that I wouldn't want to repeat. It's had some good results, that I wouldn't want to erase.

So, it will be interesting to go back. I find sometimes you can't understand your time in a place until you do. I'm wondering what I'll find out this time.

I have a necklace that reminds me of Portsmouth, New Hampshire, where I lived for two years and two months. The pendant is a piece of sea glass that I found one day among the rocks on the beach and saved in case one day I could have it made into a necklace. It sat inside the cupholder of my car for months, waiting.

It's pale sea green and roughly one inch long and three-quarters of an inch wide. It's an irregular rectangular shape and has a raised pattern that looks vaguely like the top of an anchor but is probably part of some writing. It's pretty, that's what made me save it.

One day I went downtown to see my friend Ford. When I found him, he was sitting talking to an old Deadhead who called himself Smoke. Smoke had a big bushy grey beard and a Buddha belly that was covered by a tie-dyed Grateful Dead t-shirt. He was sitting cross-legged on the pavement twisting silver wire with a pair of pliers around a pretty stone. Spread in front of him was a black velvet case showcasing his wares: every variety of coloured stone, polished smooth into beauty and wrapped around with silver wire.

I asked Smoke if he could wrap sea glass, and he said that he could. He said that he'd charge me $5. So I walked back to my car again, fetched the piece of glass, and took it to Smoke. He pulled out a length of silver wire, and a few minutes of careful twisting later, handed me my piece of sea glass, ingeniously but minimally wrapped, with a loop at the top for a chain. He then cut a length of black cord, threaded it on, tied a knot, and it was a necklace. Ten dollars, he said.

I hesitated, because he'd told me five. But I handed him ten, even though I was angry about it and complained to Ford later. However, I had to admit the result was pleasing. The thin silver wire cradles the ocean-smoothed glass, twisting to hold itself in place and spiraling up to the loop that holds the cord. When I wear it, it reminds me of the ocean. When I wear it, it reminds me of Portsmouth. When I wear it, it reminds me of countless sunsets viewed over the beautiful Piscataqua River from Peirce Island or Memorial Bridge. When I wear it, it reminds me of a time in my life that was bitter-sweet. When I wear it, it reminds me of a chunk of my past.

And it's beautiful.

I slept badly last night, frightened gallons of adrenalin washing through my system causing my sleep to be restless and light and full of wacky dreams about futile attempts to travel. I woke after about five hours of sleep and only dozed off again for a little while a few hours later.

Today is the last day in New Hampshire; tomorrow morning I'm setting off for Toronto. I'm excited and sad and nervous and happy all at once. It feels so right, but I hate border crossings and this one is the biggest of them all. I hope I have all my documents in order.

I went for a brief walk in the field just down the road to scatter some stale peanuts to the beasts of the field. The wind was cool, a buoyant breeze washing over me both the sweet smell of summer's last wildflowers and the harbinger of autumn. The afternoon sun lit the greens of the field with gracious clarity out of a pure blue sky. The Queen Anne's lace was dried and brown and curled up on itself like an arthritic claw, waiting only to sleep through winter and be awakened again by summer's kiss. The trees were tinged with autumnal colour, a deathly orange tint creeping into their green.

And I thanked God. I thanked him for giving me this beautiful place to live in for the last two years. It has been a beautiful place, full of not only natural beauty but the beauty of people whose hearts are full of his grace. I'm thankful.

I have had a very strange life. Occasionally I get into bizarre adventures that remind me of how weird my life is, and last night was one of them.

I decided to go out for a walk. Nice and normal enough. It was a lovely evening, a bit cool with a tiny mist peppering down, but warm enough once you got going at a brisk walk.

I'd been cooped inside all day packing, so I decided to go for a longish stroll of about five miles. I swung along, my thoughts pleasantly rambling, until I came toward a T junction in a residential neighbourhood. The headlights of a car behind me picked out a small dark animal running rather frantically back and forth at the end of the intersection, looking as if it was in some distress.

Alarmed, I picked up my pace. Perhaps it was a lost cat that needed help. When I crossed the intersection, however, the animal was nowhere to be found. Assuming it had vanished into the adjoining park, I gave up and walked on. Probably it was simply a neighbourhood cat out for an evening prowl.

Yesterday was a send-off day, courtesy of my church family. Ian, my pastor, invited me up to say a few words and then to be prayed for. Afterward was a surprise goodbye party, complete with goofy t-shirts with an embarrassing photo on the front and a list of "10 things we like about Susanna" on the back. The outpouring of love was really touching, and surprising. It's funny how lonely and unnoticed you can feel, and then in moments of grace be reminded of how many people love you.

It was not only touching, but puts closure on the time I've spent here. There's something right, and satisfying, about going off with the love and support of the people you're leaving behind.

This week is finally serious packing time, with today being spent putting things away in boxes and cases and pulling out bagfuls of stuff for Goodwill. It's not like I have a lot of possessions—years of moving have kept me a transient minimalist—but there are always a few things you realize aren't worth the trouble to haul along.

I feel oddly calm and at peace, and even looking forward to the move. Who knows what lies ahead...one thing I know, or at least hope, is that it can't be worse than what lies behind, and might be better. At any rate, it'll be a new adventure. Nothing bad about that.

Yesterday I got to experience a bit of what I think of as the heart of New Hampshire. Liz and I met up at her parents' place in the morning and made the two-and-a-half hour drive north to the White Mountains. Our mission: to climb Mount Jefferson, which at 5712 feet is the third highest in the northeastern US. It stands in the Presidential Range of the White Mountains, topped only (logically enough) by Washington and Adams.

Liz had requested of her dad a mountain that could be climbed without hiking boots. However, I think he might have misheard that particular bit of information. As a website informed us after we arrived home, "Jefferson is also the only 5000-footer in the Northeastern U.S. (outside of Washington with its road and train) that can be climbed with less than 3000 feet of vertical gain, using the Caps Ridge Trail from Jefferson Notch. This trail, though, is steep and very rugged...and it is best avoided by novice hikers."

Last night I left the house to go out. My landlady was hosting a scrapbooking workshop, which meant that the driveway was filled up with the vehicles of women who'd come to scrapbook. It's a bit complicated to explain, but normally from where I park, I'd reverse into one of two spaces and continue forward down the driveway, which is winding and very steep.