This year has elapsed in a flash. Exactly a year ago, my husband and I and our son with special needs made the life-changing move to Sequim, in what would be the riskiest decision of our 32 years together.

When Steve and I first thought of moving our lives, photo/video business and animals from our Salt Lake City home of 25 years last spring, it was without a destination in mind … or a job.

“Why here?” we are often asked. We had been looking and dreaming many years for horse property. Everywhere we went, on road trips to our favorite mountain towns, from Jackson, Wyo., to southern Utah, we’d wonder, “How do people do it, just pick up and move?” We thought, “If we’re serious about moving, we might as well go somewhere that we’ve visited and dreamed of someday living, near mountains and ocean, where it’s not 110 degrees or buried in snow for more than five months of the year: Sequim!”

Early in our marriage, we had driven through Sequim on our way to backpack in the Olympics, out to Lake Ozette, Dungeness and along Vancouver Island’s West Coast Trail. We loved the idea of living at the confluence of mountains, forests and sea.

So, with the optimism of college grads setting out on a new adventure, we came to scout last May. It was our first visit to the area since 1991. Our realtor loves her community and passionately promoting it to anyone who will listen. We discovered plenty of homes on the market, but not so many jobs. But we loved it just the same and were ready for a major change … if not a huge risk. Call it “beginner’s luck” — we were convinced his business would thrive (being in such proximity to major metro areas) and I would find something.

That trip was glorious and filled with excitement and possibilities. We stayed at the Strait of Juan De Fuca Cottages, with its quaint room, full kitchen and wide views of the sea, eagles and nightly sunsets. We loved dining at the Old Mill and chatting with the locals.

We hiked to Sol Duc Falls; traced our old steps along Hurricane Ridge, surrounded by five feet of snow; soaked up the sun and watched playful seals at Dungeness. And we met with the school principal and special ed teachers to check out programs for our non-verbal 17-year-old son with significant developmental disabilities.

We returned home after a week, to sloppy snow-covered streets and our same routines.

It was early May and we couldn’t stop thinking about the mild sunny days, exploring new areas, hiking new trails. We glanced at each other and said, “So it looks like we’re moving to Sequim!”

Steve was born and raised in Salt Lake City, living there for 52 years. I lived my childhood in Seattle but, when contemplating a move back to Washington, was not interested in returning to the rain or the traffic. We listed our home; it sold in one day. Now we really needed a home in Sequim! We made an offer for one we’d seen on our visit, but worried we couldn’t afford even if it was still available. It was and we could!

We didn’t want to leave my mom behind, and she didn’t want to be left, so she put her condo on the market. It, too, sold in one day! We reserved two moving trucks and started filling them. As soon as we closed on our new house in late June, I quit my job, sure that I’d find another one in sunny Sequim, where optimism, like the flowers that grow here, is always in bloom.

Finally, on an early July morning, we loaded up the dogs, cat and horse and set out for the great Northwest on the hottest day of the year.

For two days our caravan rolled north, over the same highways made familiar with road trips from Utah back to Seattle to visit grandparents when I was young. When we finally arrived in Sequim, I took my son and all four dogs and ran across the open lawn.

“We’re home!” I cried. Soon after arriving, we rescued a second horse, a mare from a feedlot, a companion for our one-eyed gelding Jack. Her name is Jill.

My mom followed two weeks later, arriving at midnight to her new home, a one-bedroom cottage on our property.

This April, my dad decided to sell his Salt Lake home of 44 years, to also come north in search of his dream home with sea views. On his first day in town, he found it after 10 months of Internet searching: a one-level home amid huge pines, overlooking the strait where he thrills at watching eagles at eye level, deer frolicking in his yard and ships carrying goods to and from far-off places.

My sister has thought of moving back to Washington after living the last 30 years in Orange County, Calif. She visited in April (for her annual pilgrimage to the LaConner tulip festival) and looked at a few homes while here. Last week, she purchased her first home … in Sun Meadows.

Our home is on a quiet country lane where the most exciting happenings over the year have been due to a cow: helping our neighbors transport her from the Dungeness Creamery, escaping for a walkabout on Christmas Day, and delivering a calf in May; where we walk to the Agnew Grocery when we’re out of milk, dog food or wine. They have it all!

We are in awe each day, watching eagles and hawks soar over open green pastures, my horses grazing in the fields against the backdrop of the Olympics (thanks to the selfless farmers and the North Olympic Land Trust), lulled to sleep each night by cool breezes and the throaty chorus of frogs. “I can’t believe we live here,” we say to each other.

What I like best are the misty mornings and the drama played out for all to witness each evening when the heavy curtains of clouds draw back to reveal the majesty of the Olympics that take center stage over the verdant valley. The laughing voices of my nearest neighbor’s children float on the breeze, across the pastures, their words indiscernible, like familiar lyrics that can’t be named.

And when it rains, I don’t mind the drizzle or even the infrequent snow. Through the changing seasons, a constant and familiar fragrance in the air has calmed and reassured us. It is a blend that recalls our favorite vacation and camping spots: of soggy rain forests, sweet cut grass and wet leaves, lilac, and juicy, sun-baked blackberries.

And, of course, lavender.

Simply sitting on my patio instantly takes me to a Hawaiian beach or an alpine meadow. It’s an intoxicating scent, begging me to breathe deeply and gratefully.

A year later, as we eagerly await new road trips, Sequim is slowly starting to feel like home, and with family and new friends it surely will be.

Along the way, in trying to re-start or re-define my career, I dabbled at the idea of buying a book store and worked joyfully during the school year as a para-educator. Now I find real contentment here, in telling these new stories of life on the peninsula … beginning with my own.

Cheryl Smith is a Sequim resident.