I’m coming for you.
- Erin Moore
- Jul 14
- 4 min read
Today is my last day in Puerto Rico. I woke up in my bed, stretched the white coverlet back and extended my foot to the cool ceramic floor. I opened my bedroom door and felt the assault of heat and humidity, always exaggerated until my body adjusts from my 65 degree sleeping temperature to my 78 degree living temperature. I made a protein iced coffee and carried it out back, where I perched on the mountain my house was built on. The breeze was effortless, the temperature was ideal, and the view of the neighboring mountains and sea will never not make me feel like I’m living a blessing. Surely, I will miss these gentle mornings.
My husband, already clicking away at his desk, stops whatever he's doing and joins me. We chat about yesterday and the day ahead and then we hold hands and pray together. Our prayers are laced in gratitude, filled with hopeful wishes, and anchored in faith.
Then he was off to work, and I was left with how to spend my day.
I chose this. Writing to you.
My husband and I bought this house a little over 4 years ago. Looking back it might have been the perfect storm of too many pandemic hours spent binge-watching episodes (it was every season) of “Caribbean Life” and the YOLO feeling that the pandemic induced. But as soon as we were vaccinated, we started looking for our “retirement home” someplace warm.
We chose Puerto Rico because we had vacationed here in 2017 (pre-hurricane Maria) and fell in love with the island and her people. Puerto Ricans are amazing, kind, beautiful, community oriented (and the fact that they look an awful lot like our kids, doesn’t hurt). Because Puerto Rico is a territory of the US, it is logistically “easy” to move to (same currency, familiar foods and brands, easy travel back and forth). We knew it wouldn’t be cheaper to live here (thanks Jones Act), like some of the other warm temperature destinations like Mexico, Costa Rica, Spain, or the DR, but we didn’t care, we were in love with this island and wanted to be here.
Long story short, we found a place on the east coast on the edge of the rainforest mountains and bought it. We eventually sold our Maine home and downsized to a condo in Portsmouth. Our Puerto Rican home would become our main residence. Mercy Street Studio would continue to be in Eliot, my husband and I would travel back and forth as needed for work and life. [cue Hannah Montana “best of both worlds”]
That’s been going well. Especially the part that has us here all winter. I must confess: I do not miss New England winters. But I do miss New England. And I miss my family. And I miss you all (the 4 people reading this).
The kids & grandkids do visit; we have found it fairly easy to entice them south. But we have a life in New England that we love. Old friends that we get to wrap our arms around, family that drops by, lunch dates and coffees and strolls through Portsmouth, apple picking in the fall, and its own mountains and sea that are differently, equally beautiful.
Being a creature of habit, I find the big move, the one where I’m going to be at one place or the other for several months, tricky. This is where I am today. Already missing my morning routine here on the mountain, yet looking forward to my grandson’s giggle.
On Thursday I’ll wake up, toss back my comforter, my foot will land on a hardwood floor. I’ll open my bedroom door and the temperature will be the same as it is in my bedroom. My husband will be at his desk clacking away at his keyboard and we’ll exchange a good morning. I’ll head downstairs, make myself a protein iced coffee, and I’ll sit at my desk to drink it.
The work. The photography.
The thing about being a photographer is the relationships. I know you’ve heard me say it before. The creative thrill is real, the dopamine from making something magical is real, but the relationships are everything. Every.single.thing.
As I look at the names lined up on our schedule, I honestly can’t wait to see you all. I know I’ll say “look at how big you’ve gotten” even though I literally coach myself not to say it because I know the kids hear it from me every year, but then I can’t help it – seeing your kids grow up never gets old. Kind of like coffee on the mountain. It’s new every time and I am a kid in a candy shop, excited to see how tall, how beautiful, how much they’ve changed, who they're becoming, and to make something meaningful and magical for your family to treasure.
That’s worth leaving paradise for.
I love reading what you write. I have since the days of Lobsters in the Rough. I'm glad you're coming closer to my home for a bit.
I love this! My husband and I dream of having a "summer place" in coastal Maine upon retirement, and plan to stay in the South during the winter months!