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Why We Moved from Arizona to Norman, Oklahoma: A Personal Journey
For over a year, my wife and I had been on an exhausting search for a used home we could actually afford in Arizona. With housing prices skyrocketing and my vision declining, our choices felt increasingly narrow. We could have stayed and poured every dollar into exorbitant rent, leaving us scraping by without enough for basics like food, or we could pack up and start fresh elsewhere. As much as we both adored Arizona’s landscapes, climate, and memories, it simply wasn’t sustainable. Tough as it was, we knew it was time to leave.
My wife’s family roots run deep in the Norman, Oklahoma area, and I’d fallen in love with the place during a week-long visit we took a while back. The friendly vibe, the open spaces, and the genuine warmth of the people stuck with me. So, we turned our sights eastward. In Arizona, even a modest one-bedroom felt out of reach on our average salaries, but crossing a couple of states into Oklahoma opened up possibilities we hadn’t dreamed of. After months of careful research, heartfelt discussions, and weighing every pro and con, we took the plunge and bought a charming three-bedroom home right here in the Norman area.
We’ve been in our new house for nearly a month now, still surrounded by half-unpacked boxes and bubbling with that new-home excitement and aching back. The sense of community here feels real and immediate, a far cry from the isolation we sometimes felt before.
Just the other day, for the first time since moving in, I ventured out for a longer adventure: a roughly four-mile walk exploring parts of the city. Downtown Norman is buzzing with activity these days, with quite a bit of construction reshaping the area, new developments, infrastructure upgrades, and revitalization projects that promise to breathe even more life into the heart of the city. Navigating those zones as a legally blind guy could have been tricky, but the construction crews were incredibly kind and patient, guiding me safely through the hazards with clear directions and helpful hands. I had an absolute blast chatting with folks along the way, strangers who stopped to talk, share stories, or just say hello. The whole experience left me feeling safe, connected, and invigorated.
That said, Norman isn’t without its challenges. Like many growing cities, there’s a visible issue with homelessness, and the city council has been deeply engaged in debates about solutions, including proposals for a permanent shelter funded through a bond vote. With budget deficits and ongoing discussions about priorities, it’s a complex topic that reflects the city’s commitment to addressing real needs while balancing resources. But beneath those growing pains, Norman brims with character, the kind that’s hard to find in bigger, more polished places. The people here are genuinely great: down-to-earth, helpful, and quick to lend a hand.
As a classic university town, home to the University of Oklahoma, Norman pulses with energy. You’ll encounter all walks of life, students, professors, families, artists, and athletes creating a vibrant mix that’s always refreshing. There’s constantly something happening: games at the stadium, events on campus, festivals, or just the lively hum of daily life. It’s big enough to feel like a proper city (without the overwhelming chaos of nearby Oklahoma City), yet it retains that welcoming, small-town heart, perfect for this country fella who’s always preferred wide-open spaces over endless sprawl.
The one thing I’m still hunting for is that perfect coffee spot with the right community feel. There are plenty of options within easy walking distance, Starbucks, Dutch Bros, Stella Nova, and more, but they’re not quite hitting the mark for me. Back in Payson, Arizona, I was a regular at Common Grounds, a true local hangout where folks gathered every morning to chat, catch up on news, and build real connections. They even kept my own dedicated coffee mug on a special hook, complete with Braille labeling so I could find it easily. It felt like home.
Here in Norman, I’m optimistic I’ll discover something close. I’m planning to explore them one by one until I find that spot where I can become a regular again.
All in all, we’re thrilled to be here in Norman, putting down roots and embracing this new chapter. Our home feels like a true blessing, spacious, affordable, and filled with potential.
As we get more settled, I look forward to sharing more stories and diving back into writing about my lifelong passion: photography and vintage film cameras. Being legally blind hasn’t dimmed that love one bit. With no useful vision in my left eye and just a narrow 5-degree tunnel in my right, the world is mostly shadows and shapes to me. But photography has been part of my life for decades. It’s about feeling the moment, composing through instinct and memory, and capturing beauty in ways that transcend sight. Old film cameras, with their tactile controls and timeless mechanics, are especially magical. I can’t wait to talk more about them soon!
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Moving on…
As you might have noticed, there has been a lack of posts lately. My photography has stalled to a memory. All of this, however, is for an amazing reason.
As Spring has sprung, we have been planning and working hard behind the scenes in the Davis household. After much research and heartfelt thought, Deana and I have decided that we are moving to Arizona, where she grew up. My amazing and beautiful wife spent her childhood in an oasis in the desert, and she loves and misses it dearly. The decision was not easy, as we will both miss family and friends here immensely, but it is a great time to move and still a seller’s market in South Carolina.
I am excited to share that I will be transferring to a similar position in the northern half of Arizona. The prospect of this move fills me with anticipation and joy. While I have a deep love for my home and family here in South Carolina, I won’t miss the allergies or the oppressive heat and 100% humidity that plagues July and August. I have always had a passion for travel and embarking on new adventures, and this move presents a perfect opportunity for that.
As previously stated in several posts, I am in the process of going blind. Our hope is that I have more than two years before I lose my vision entirely. So, while I can still see, I am looking forward to capturing the beauty of the West through my lens. The vast landscapes, the picturesque deserts, and the breathtaking sunsets are all calling to me, and I aim to photograph as much as I can.
Currently, we are in the process of finding the right buyer for our home. We have put a lot of effort into getting the house ready for sale, and we are eagerly awaiting the next steps. Until we finalize the sale and make the move, there may not be any new posts on the site. Our days are filled with work and house showings, leaving little time for writing, developing film, or taking new photographs. It has been a shocker, not having had the chance to photograph anything in a month.
All that said, as soon as the house is sold, I will be back with more updates and plan to document our week-long journey west on the blog. The excitement is palpable, and I am looking forward to sharing this new chapter with you all. Stay tuned for more adventures from the Davis household! I can’t wait!
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Walking With a Blind Cane
Living with vision impairment involves constant learning and adaptation, and my recent experiences have truly highlighted this journey. Participating in orientation and mobility training with a specialist from Columbia was not just an educational endeavor, but a life-affirming one. The specialist displayed a remarkable combination of professional expertise and compassionate support that has empowered me in ways I hadn’t imagined possible.
Navigating the world without full sight is fraught with potential hazards. While the technical jargon is vast, the fundamental goal remains straightforward: avoid accidents, whether with vehicles, bicycles, or obstacles on the path. Mastery of the blind cane is crucial in this respect. The various tips that adorn the cane—a marvel of simple design—are surprisingly communicative, furnishing tactile feedback about the ground underfoot and the obstacles flanking the path.
A mundane commute can be a gauntlet for those with visual impairments. My daily journey involves a half-mile trek along a sidewalk that is not always in the best of repair. Here, the cane serves as an invaluable ally, probing the terrain for perils and helping me maintain a straight course. Transitioning from sidewalk to road signifies an escalation in risk, and it is here that a careful pace and keen hearing become my guardians against the dangers that quiet electric cars, like a Tesla, might present.
The complicated intersections are a particular concern. One such crossing I regularly navigate requires traversing four lanes of traffic, set at an unusual angle, lacking the guidance of audible pedestrian signals. Here, the life-saving virtues of patience and acute listening are never more apparent. The near-silent approach of electric vehicles heightens the peril, making it essential to rely upon one’s auditory senses to a degree that those with vision might find hard to fathom.
The message I wish to impart to drivers is one of vigilance and empathy. Keep watch for those of us with canes; these are not mere accessories but vital tools signaling the presence of a visually impaired or blind person navigating the byways and thoroughfares you share. I brandish my cane not just for personal navigation and safety but also as a clear signal to you, the driver, alerting you to my presence and my needs. This cane is for depth perception when negotiating rough terrain and a visible beacon to declare my visual limitations to the surrounding traffic.
Our roads, our paths, they are shared spaces. As participants in this communal realm, we bear a collective responsibility to ensure safety for all members, especially those who confront these spaces without the benefit of sight. The kindness drivers display in being mindful of visually impaired pedestrians like myself makes an indelible difference; it makes these journeys less daunting and the world a little more accessible, one thoughtful act at a time.
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The Great Blue Hills of God
When I was a young boy, my grandfather would tell me stories about the great Cherokee nation and Sah-ka-na-ga, a somewhat level camping area atop the rock where they could camp for a few days whilst on an arduous journey across the mountains. The mountaintop and the water and wildlife provided a respite to the weary travelers. We were told of the wise elders who spoke of the mountains with deep reverence, and of the nights when the stars seemed close enough to touch, as if the elders’ tales summoned them nearer.
Like most of you, I learned about the ‘Trail of Tears‘, a stain on our nations history, in school. The mountains in the featured photo of this post used to belong to the Cherokee. Right or wrong, they signed over their rights to this land in 1785. If this land could talk, I’m sure it would fill a hundred volumes. It’s these stories that haunt the crevices of the rocks and the currents of the streams; the echoes of laughter, the whispers of the wind through the trees, and the songs of sorrow for a people forever entwined with these hills.
Being part Cherokee, these mountains, valleys, streams, and ponds hold a special place in my heart. There is an aire of mystery about this land and a haunting cry from the past as the wind whistles and winds its way ’round the mountain tops. It is a shame that so many people are moving here that don’t know its history. The land is being taken again, except this time by colonials from the North, West, and Foreign Governments. The history is still taught in school, but the folklore is passed down from one generation to the next. Hundreds of books have been written, but who reads anymore?
The stories told by my grandfather were not just narratives of the past; they were the threads that wove the fabric of our identity. He would speak of the legacy left by the Cherokee on these lands, leaving a mark as indelible as the seasons themselves. To this day, I feel the presence of my ancestors in the rustling leaves and the gentle babble of the brooks, as if they are reaching through time to remind me of who I am and whence I came.
As I grew older, I came to appreciate the poignant beauty in the confluence of nature and history here. The same mountains that witnessed my forebears’ tribulations now stand as silent observers to modernity’s advance. To hike through these woodlands is to walk alongside ghosts of a bygone era, each step a small pilgrimage through a history richly layered and complex.
Yet the relentless march of progress does not cease. Newcomers arrive, drawn by the allure of unspoiled vistas, seemingly ignorant of the depth of history that permeates the very soil. They come seeking tranquility or perhaps refuge from their own crowded spaces, unaware that each footprint is an echo of a much older passage.
I hold hope, however, that our stories will persist, as resilient as the ancient rock formations that bear witness to time’s relentless passage. Oral traditions may give way to digital scrolls, yet the essence of our folklore, like the mountain’s silhouette against a twilight sky, remains immutable — a testament to the enduring spirit of the Cherokee people and the enduring majesty of the lands they have called home since time immemorial.
There is something magical about these mountains on a foggy morn’ or when God dapples the leaves with colours like a canvas in the fall. I have spent numerous mornings gazing out over the ridges of the mountains and watching them pierce through the moving fog and clouds. At times, the fog lifts as if the earth itself is exhaling, revealing hidden vistas and secret places that seem untouched by time. As the sun breaks, the mountains play an orchestrated symphony of light and shadow, enchanting any who take the time to watch.
Throughout the seasons, these mountains don foothills of white snow, a wardrobe of endless greens, and a spectacle of autumnal hues. The cycles of life continue unabated, as do the stories that are passed from one generation to the next. For those who sit and listen, the mountains offer a narrative of resilience, beauty, and an enduring spirit that no treaty could sequester within mere pages of history.
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Insignificant Leaf
In a previous discussion, I highlighted the inherent beauty contained within the minute details of our everyday lives. We find ourselves ensnared in the incessant pace of existence, perpetually striving to surpass the expectations laid out before us—both our own and those of others who hold stakes in our journey. This unyielding race often blinds us to the profound joys of life’s subtleties.
Consider the photograph presented in this post: a lone leaf, apparently inconsequential and one of a multitude. Yet, it poses a silent question—can we truly consider it insignificant? Each leaf weaves its own narrative, etched with intricate patterns and a distinctiveness that beckons for recognition. It stands out among its peers, its form imbued with a quiet personality. Dismissed by some as an inconsequential piece of foliage, we are compelled to ponder: does it genuinely lack value?
This leaf, in all its simplicity, is an artifact of divine craftsmanship. Though it may be flawed in the eyes of some, it remains a testament to God’s work. To contemplate whether it possesses rights would be to misinterpret its role. It is, at its core, a leaf—fulfilling its purpose within the grand tapestry of nature. Yet, it demands our appreciation just as a flower does, for its own sake and for the beauty it contributes to the world.
There is a profound lesson nestled among these subtleties: to decelerate our pace and cherish the seemingly insignificant elements that populate our lives. Much like this leaf, such moments and objects ask for nothing but a brief pause—a moment of contemplation, an ounce of gratitude. As my ability to see these details dwindles, their significance becomes amplified. The pine cone, the leaf, they are all fragments of a greater whole, pieces of a divine puzzle meant to be valued.
In time, my vision will diminish entirely. I urge you not to wait until the charm of sight or the grace of being eludes you—appreciate the splendors of creation now. Soak in the simplicity and the intricate detail bestowed upon us by God, and you will find a world rich with wonder, ripe for your admiration.
