My first column in The Register-Guard — Oct. 25, 2013 — was about a house my wife and I owned in Kansas City.

It was a drafty old place in a pre-war neighborhood that, when you stepped through the front door, immediately transported you back to 1959. But it had great bones, as they say, and we spent several summers renovating until we had the perfect place to start a family.

Then life threw us a curveball. I got an offer to become the sports columnist at The Register-Guard. Before the last coat of paint had time to dry, we were putting a sign in the front yard and packing our boxes.

Leaving was one of the hardest decisions we've ever made, and also one of the best. We gave up a house, but what we found here was a home.

That's why it's so hard to break the news that this is my last column in The Register-Guard. These past 5½ years in Eugene have been special, mostly because of the people who make this such a wonderful place to work and live.

We felt so at home here that, a year after we arrived, we were doing the thing I swore we'd never do again. We bought another old house and started tearing out the kitchen — a smaller project this time, but with a newborn baby in the picture, it was plenty to keep us busy.

Not long after our son was born, we planted a cherry tree in our front yard. The yield this year was exactly eight plump cherries. Someone else will enjoy the fruit, but that's OK.

Life is better when you put down roots. When you get attached to a place, it's also hard to leave. That's what I'm feeling today as we pack up our house and prepare for a move back east.

I'd love to say we're not going far but, well, it's kinda far. I promise, though, that Oregon and the people here will always be close to my heart.

What I'll remember most are the random acts of kindness I experienced during my time at The Register-Guard. There was the gentleman who read my column about rooting for my hometown Royals in the World Series and dropped off a brand new fleece pullover he bought in Kansas City.

There were two guys named Bob who gave me books that became family favorites. My friend Bill the knifemaker, who sharpened our kitchen knives at no charge. My friend Agnes, who set a half-marathon PR at age 92 and invited me each year to pick pears in her backyard.

I'm grateful to Register-Guard journalists past and present — people like Ron Bellamy, who knew the R-G's tradition of sports columnists better than anyone and always made me feel like I belonged. And the writers I had the privilege of working beside on press row, folks who made me proud to say I was part of the team.

Say what you want about the state of the newspaper industry, but I've always believed that working in local journalism was one of the most rewarding careers anyone could have. My time here has only confirmed that belief. When I tell people that Eugene is one of the best places in the world to be a sports columnist, I really mean it.

I was lucky enough to cover some unforgettable stories during my time here. Marcus Mariota's Heisman Trophy season and the first College Football Playoff, the Olympic Trials in 2016, Final Four runs for the Oregon men's and women's basketball teams, the Bad News Ems and their walk-off balk, the Alamo Bowl (sorry to bring it up), a long interview with Phil Knight about the future of Hayward Field — all of those experiences are embedded deep in my memory.

A story I'll always remember is one I didn't write. In 2014 I attended a memorial service for a Linfield football player who was murdered in a knife attack. Hundreds of people crowded into a stuffy gym, and afterward I followed a group of players outside.

It was dark, with a heavy blanket of fog hanging over the football stadium. I watched the players gather at midfield, form a tight circle and put their arms around each other.

Why didn't I write that column? I think it was because I wanted to talk to more people, wanted to put everything in the perfect perspective, and no one had any words to say. Later I realized that was the whole story right there, those boys standing together in the fog.

The columns that meant the most to me weren't the ones about famous athletes or grandiose achievements. What I appreciated most were the times when regular people opened up their lives, shared their struggles and heartaches, trusted me to tell their stories.

After more than five years, it's hard to imagine doing anything else for a living. But also, I think it's time to let someone else have a turn.

As a writer, it's always unsettling when you come up with a clever line that feels vaguely familiar, then realize the person you're ripping off is yourself. That's happened to me a few too many times lately.

So I'm headed off to a new challenge, but not before I acknowledge everyone who made this such a wonderful experience. To everyone who read, emailed, called, wrote letters or otherwise made me feel at home here: Thank you. I hope, in some small way, the columns became part of your life.

I know you all are part of mine.

Austin Meek can be reached at austin.t.meek@gmail.com.