OR Mists to FL Shores
A Gothic Odyssey: From Oregon’s Mists to Florida’s Shores
more or less… we did stop at TN campsite for 2 months and SC for a month then to MS and now in FL
Beneath the shadowed veil of fate, my journey from Oregon’s misty pines to Florida’s sun-drenched sands unfolded like a tale penned by Poe—equal parts chaos and charm. After selling my Oregon home, I embarked on a 1.5 year quest for my forever haven, a caravan of dreams trailing through Tennessee’s rolling hills, North Carolina’s winding roads, and Mississippi’s warm embrace. Tennessee, though lovely, felt too landlocked for my soul’s yearning for water. The Carolinas, kissed by coastal winds, offered twisting paths but lacked the community I craved—just before their floods reminded me of nature’s whims. Mississippi charmed with its hospitality, but my heart whispered of Florida’s sunlit shores. The Keys glimmered in my dreams, though my purse insists I settle closer to Port Charlotte’s coastal whispers for now.
The road to Florida was no gentle ballad. Six months ago, both our trusty steeds surrendered to the abyss. Mine was a total loss, while my husband’s truck demanded a $18,000 engine transplant—more than the beast was worth! We bartered for a $11,000 used truck, only to find its hitch too proud to fit our trailer, requiring a blacksmith’s shave. The sliders, cursed things, refused to close, turning our departure into a midnight riddle. We left our Mississippi campsite on the 31st of August at 9 PM, arriving in Pensacola at 3:30 AM. Did I mention, one tire on the RV kept needing to be checked for pressure: making a 3 hr trip into 6+ hours. There, in the truck’s cramped embrace, we snatched sleep under a starless sky before I faced Florida’s real estate exam at 8 AM. I was so stressed but by some miracle, I passed. My license a talisman for this new chapter.
Now, in Central Florida’s heart, I’m weaving my real estate craft anew. From Zephyrhills’ transient camp, I dream of Port Charlotte’s shores, ready to help you find a sanctuary—be it a first home or an idyllic retreat. But first, I still must buy a new steed… remember mine died. My Gothic Dust Diaries continue, conjuring tales of haunted lighthouses and arcane crystals. Want to join? Reach out for real estate wisdom or a glimpse into the unseen. This journey tested my soul, but like a weathered manor, I stand ready for what’s next.
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