Roots are funny things.
Botanists, farmers, those who know things, will argue or teach about what sort of plant needs which type of soil to grow and thrive. I’m sure they know what they are talking about.
But I say that all plants grow best, in whatever type of soil they happen to be planted in at that time. Because that’s the thing about plants; they aren’t the gardener. If they don’t grow where they are their only other choice is rather dire.
After tearful goodbyes, and I am not afraid to claim a tear, I drove off into the sunset. 
Then I drove into another sunset. 
Then I drove into yet another sunset and eventually ran out of room to drive. 
Then I stopped and unloaded the truck.
A long time ago I took seed in land, was transplanted to another, and eventually began to grow like that pesky weed that comes up in the crack of a sidewalk.
I loved being a weed in the Philly sidewalk.
There were lots of other interesting weeds, great climate for weeds to grow, and best of all, in Philly weeds are allowed to grow.
I must have sprouted seed because the wind picked me up and blew me to another land where there are no weeds.
But here there are flowers.
Palm trees and sun.
It does not rain but gardeners abound. No more rabble but rather manicured gardens.
I have landed and now I can choose to grow.
Or not.
I am not the gardener so all I can do is grow as best I can. Perhaps the gardener, because they have those here, will find I am a weed and pluck me up, or maybe I will find I am a flower?
Brohammas 
It seems like everyone is moving. It’s that smell. You know? I love the smell of cardboard boxes in the morning. It smells like …. Mayflower.
It’s like buying a new car. Once you pick one it’s like everyone else on the road magically has the same model.
I’m impressed if you got all your stuff in that truck. I know that I couldn’t move with that size truck. Best of luck at the new job and new soil.
roots are our foundation for life, No?
Welcome to the West Coast, playa.