When we packed up our Minnesota house (oh wait, did I say we? I totally meant I. Because I packed everything by myself. Just so we’re all clear on that one), there was a sense that every inanimate object had to earn itself a place on the moving truck.

(“Inanimate” because social services would probably not have been impressed if we’d made our kids argue their worthiness over, say, a box of books. [Depending on the day, that actually might not be an easy choice.])

Because we had a finite amount of space, and that amount was decidedly less than the amount taken up by our belongings, we had to do a fair bit of purging. Even when the purging was done (remember all my Craigslist adventures?), I was still a bit nervous that moving day might require some Sophie’s Choices of the “bed vs books” variety due to maxing out the truck (again, not always the easiest decision).

I gave the movers a tour of the house, pointing out the “must-haves” vs the “nice-to-haves.” That way, they could pack the essentials and then, if we started running out of room, they’d know what could get left behind.

On that “pack if it fits” list was our patio furniture. As much as I love getting my deck on, patio furniture takes up a lot of space. And when you start doing the math of cost-to-transport-across-Rocky-Mountains vs cost-to-replace-on-the-other-end, it was clear that my beloved deck chairs were not gonna be first into the lifeboats.

Oh man, it came down to the wire on moving day. We got the sofas in and the beds in and the eleventeen kitchen boxes in and the books (phew) in and the piano in. And, of course, all the passports and green cards. But we were getting awfully close to the “you shall not pass” line of the truck and the patio furniture was still not in.

BUT! Brandon and crew (best movers evah!) somehow managed. They pushed, prodded, stacked, shoe-horned and otherwise Tetris’ed EVERYTHING. And I happily shut the door knowing that somewhere down the line, there’d be some deck-getting-on-ing once again.

That time is NOW! Look where I’m sitting!

Isn’t it amazing? It’s like my own little slice of heaven in my backyard. I feel a bit like Lady Grantham taking respite in the shade from the beating sun to save her porcelain skin (if Lady Grantham drank martinis and ate potato chips and blogged and read books on her Kindle and did so as a well-deserved break after cleaning the entire house AND mowing the lawn including going to the gas station to get gas for the mower [and standing there like a knob while the attendant filled my gas can because Portland]).

That tree is something else, too – here is as much of it as I could fit in one picture:

God bless massive trees! And patio furniture! And WiFi that reaches to the backyard! And 32-degree days in May! And definitely Brandon and his amazing crew of moving magicians!