Gypsy habits die hard

Ever since I was a child, the thought of travel was exciting and new, but it never really happened. But since the time that I got pregnant with Magnolia, I (we) have moved a total of 16 time covering a little over 11,000 miles. On dreamier days, Eric and I have spent hours making our own "double decker double wide" caravan, to trip across the world in. We have also looked at the Nomads of the east and really considered investing in a donkey and a yurt. If it weren't for the donkey pie allergies, we'd be doing it today.
But no, we made the Decision to move once again and do something that we haven't done; bought a house, thinking the large amount of debt might keep us in one place.
But here I am again, looking at property back in the PACNW, and dreaming of yet another move.
I'm trying to shake this need for movement; I work out twice a day and sweat in the garden for hours, but that little desire is proving to be insatiable. Blaring 'Democracy Now' to drown out that little voice is not really working either.
Florida is a pretty place. The beaches are wonderful and it's very green everywhere, but I haven't seen a rock or a hill over 25 feet tall in almost two years. Magnolia and I parked on a slope to go out to lunch one day. As we got out of the car, we both weebled and wobbled and had a little vertigo. It was really weird. It was like I was drunk on elevation, I'm sure my ears popped.

That's the big difference. Yes it's pretty here in a stratus kind of way. Just a whole lot of horizontal lines. Water, sky or beach, water, sky or grass, sand, beach then sky. But being next to a mountain has an inspiration all to it's own.
It's one thing to look at something pretty, but when you wake up next to a glacial mountain, as the sound curls around it's toes, your breath is stolen and you are at the mercy of this amazing bounty of strength and glory. You just want to crumble to the ground thanking it for being what it is. Maybe it's a magnetic pull that keeps it stuck in your mind and calling you back, begging you to return.

We will, it's inevitable. But when will be the question, and how. Will we have the glory of the caravan? Complete with shingles and hippy rainbow flags barely being held together by, duct tape and bad words?
Or will we be returning in Jags and Beemers with our Floridian leather exteriors, looking like waspy assholes expressing our opinions in passive aggressive tones?
Whatever way, the roads are calling us and they all seem to head north.(It's f-ing Florida, what would you expect?)