Every Thanksgiving morning, our backyard in I’On fills with neighbours, children, dogs,

champagne, bourbon slushies and oysters roasting over the fire. This tradition has become the

highlight of our family’s year, although the idea was never ours to begin with.

When my husband Craig and I moved to I’On, we knew almost no one. One of the first people I

met was my now-dear friend and neighbor, Cathryn, who had recently returned to Charleston

and remembered the oyster roasts and champagne breakfasts she had loved in years past.

“I have such a good idea,” she told me. “The only problem is that I don’t have a backyard.”

“I do,” I replied.

It was the perfect new-to-town icebreaker. We began inviting everyone we had met, many of

whom were still almost strangers, and on Thanksgiving morning our unfamiliar backyard

suddenly filled. Around forty people came that first year. Seven years later, as many as 110

neighbors, friends and family members may pass through.

That first gathering came at exactly the right moment. We had only arrived that summer, and

Thanksgiving was the first holiday our three boys, Davis, Peter and Jackson, would return to a

house and neighborhood they barely knew. We were still unpacking and finding our place, yet

by the end of that morning, surrounded by people we had only recently met, the house already

felt like home to all of us.

My husband and I have spent most of our married life moving. I grew up in the Washington,

D.C. area, and Craig grew up in Los Angeles. We met while working with Young Life in Austria

and Hungary. Craig had already spent three years teaching English there when I arrived in

1990. Three months later we were engaged, and six months after that we were married.

Life together became an adventure. We returned to the United States in 1993, first settling in

Seattle before graduate school took us to Chicago. Craig attended Loyola University Chicago

School of Law while I earned my master’s degree in clinical psychology from Wheaton College.

All three of our boys were born in the Chicago suburbs.

When the boys were all under five, Craig accepted a position as Regional General Counsel for

Europe, the Middle East and Africa with an SC Johnson company based in Amsterdam. At the

time, I had an established private practice in Chicago, but it felt like too meaningful an

opportunity for our family to pass up. So we packed our bags once again and headed overseas.

As a therapist, I’ve always been fascinated by the idea of home and how we define it.

Is home a place? Is it the people we’re with? Is it something we create within ourselves? Or

is it some unique combination of all three? Moving to another country made those questions

impossible to ignore. Suddenly, everyday tasks became complicated. Something as simple as

reading a grocery label required effort. It took energy to adjust to the new environment, but we

always found our footing as a family. We lived in Europe for five wonderful years before

returning to Chicago, only to move again a few years later to Kansas City.

There was something to love everywhere we lived. Each place shaped us. Each community

gave us lifelong friendships. Every move stretched us in ways we never expected. Craig and I

built a wonderful life together, and wherever our family was, we were home. That part never

changed. But we’d never had a place that felt like ours until we found I’On.

We fell in love with our house on Edenton Road almost immediately. It was larger than two

almost-empty nesters had planned to buy, but something about it felt right. The double

porches especially captured us. There is something about the architecture in I’On that quietly

invites connection. The homes face one another instead of turning inward. Front porches

become gathering places instead of decoration. When we finally moved in, I remember thinking:

I hope I never forget how beautiful the trees are here.

Every morning Craig and I sit together on that front porch with coffee. I drink an Americano

with cream. Craig drinks his coffee black. Together we watch the neighborhood wake up. The

runners pass by. Dog walkers stop to chat. Children ride their bikes toward the creek with fishing

poles over their shoulders. The ordinary rhythms of the neighborhood have become some of my

favorite moments of the day. And the sense of connection doesn’t stop there.

It’s there when we drop our Yorkiepoo, Hairy McClary, at Little Dog’s Club. It’s there for our

nightcap at St. Urban's while catching up with Warren. It’s there when we ride our bikes to

Square Onion whenever the boys are home. It’s at every Thanksgiving oyster roast that began

with one borrowed idea and became an annual reminder that community isn’t something you

stumble upon. It’s something you build together.

One thing I hadn’t expected from settling here was how much it would give back to me. For

most of my adult life, every move has been tied to Craig’s career or the next chapter of our

family’s story. When he joined Major, Lindsey & Africa as an executive legal recruiter and started

working virtually for the first time, we finally had the freedom to choose where we wanted to put

down roots. It wasn’t until we finally stopped moving that my own world began to expand.

I’ve been able to develop the international arm of my private practice, consulting with companies

and clinicians far beyond Charleston. My work is now focused on applying psychological

principles in workplaces to help individuals and companies flourish in tandem, and on raising the

next generation of mental-health-informed leaders. In many ways, my life has become more

global than ever. The only difference is that now I have somewhere to come home to.

After all the years of temporary stays and borrowed time, we’ve finally stopped planning our

next move. I’On let our souls settle. And I can honestly say I’ve never forgotten how beautiful

the trees are. In fact, they seem to get more beautiful every day.