I shall miss gardenias and azaleas. I am hoping that my gardenias start to bloom soon, so I can drink in their rich aroma on the south side of my old house. The women who owned the house before me were wise gardeners; camellias on the north side, azaleas in front facing the west, and the South’s most verdant source of perfume, gardenias on the south. None of these plants grow in Iowa, so this is my last round with all of them.

I recall my first Christmas season here, I was on the phone with my mother and noticed out the north window in the dining room the deep red blooms of the largest of two old camellia bushes. When you are from the North, anything blooming after Christmas is as miraculous as Christmas itself, and you don’t take it for granted.

As I have never taken my time here for granted. The Hill beckoned to me as I was finishing my doctorate in 1997. Stuart Gulley invited me to join him here, and after one visit I knew this is where I wanted to land. I still recall walking up the steps between Quillian and Smith into that small quad. It was, and still is, what every small college should look like. It is technically owned by the United Methodist Church but it is more accurately owned by you, the town of LaGrange. And I have been so proud to be part of both the college and the town for these 13 years.

If not for the town, the college would be dead several times over, as several other colleges died here in this region. Rufus Smith came to your ancestors repeatedly to support it, Daisy Davies mounted a campaign to raise funds among the local citizens to eke out another year during her presidency, and the pillars of the Callaway Mills and Foundation have been generous supporters for decades. Nearly moved Macon to merge with Wesleyan in 1913, conversations between the Candler brothers and Daisy Davies to move the college to the Emory campus a bit later, the college hung on and will open its 180th year next August. May she live another 180 years and soar to new heights.

College administrators are not quite as transient as students, but typically are more mobile than faculty. Thirteen years is a heck of a run. My previous Kentucky post lasted 15; nobody can say that I don’t stick where I’m planted. I had three different jobs at that one, rising through the ranks. Once you hit vice president, you hope for great colleagues, enough resources to make some good things happen and luck. I had all that here and much, much more.

So with a very small place in Apalachicola as spiritual anchor, I am moving to Iowa to dive into another United Methodist institution that reminds me very much of where LaGrange College was about a decade ago. And from Iowa, it’s hard telling where my path may go, and that’s OK. Sometimes you have to make yourself change when the most comfortable thing to do is to stay put. I have never regretted such change even though it’s hard as heck to pull the trigger.

When I moved south from Illinois more than 30 years ago for graduate school, I missed the lilacs and peonies. Every move since then has been deeper south, reference points for the changing culture and geography marked by different birds, flowers and accents. I return to the latitude of lilacs and black soil, sharp vowels, and where my large ice scraper will again be used for ice and snow instead of loosening the grip of ivy from my brick foundation.

I have had a wonderful run and for that I thank the community and the college. Next spring when the azaleas splash their color throughout your neighborhoods, I will be weeks away from such outdoor bounty. But at the sight of my first robin I shall think of you and this place fondly, and hope it is thriving and well. Thank you.