Midwinter Snippets

Here we are in the glow of winter, and it doesn't even feel like it has started yet, only a few inches of snow here and there so far. I love January in Maine (quiet roads, smooth calendar blocks) and feel only a hair melancholy we have already leaped past it and February. And also, I miss writing on here and sharing small moments of our days, so wanted to pop by to share about life now, as well as a few trips from the past months.

I just returned from several weeks away for work, and this week, time feels pulled like taffy, lengthened, the need to hurry sloughed off my shoulders. I sit in front of my computer but also stand to stretch and blink from bright sun on the winter iced-over-harbor, candyland skies above. The world feels hopeful with the snow we have.

We hear woodpeckers through the emptied woods on a late afternoon, the air so cold it fills completely with the knocking. My legs always pause, every time, and we listen.

Since I was last here, here are the boldest quilt pieces of our year (from phone photos). So many moments, but these stand out.

In August, I got my very first car, a little peapod green electric Mini, and I fell in love with freedom to zip.

September was a lucky trip to the Dolomites with my in-laws, so unbelievably spectacular, and more posts to come there soon.

October brought me for work to Colorado and reconnecting with one of my closest from NYC and one of my closest from childhood, who I had not seen for over 20 years, 

and two trips to NYC (and one tiny plane home right to Rockland over the autumn golddust).

The perfect calm Maine month, in November, we hosted a quiet Thanksgiving with 9 dear friends from nearby, and hiked and enjoyed the gear-up for the holidays.

December crushed our little harbor with storm after feverish storm, the sea pulsing and biting away oceanside gazebos, docks. Even now, planks of wood 20 feet long mosey through the landings. 

We visited Quebec for W's birthday, and ate so much fondue, crepes and butter than I nearly melted when we walked near a fire. It was our second trip to Quebec this year, and I am still completely smitten with how the city feels: European and Maine mixed together, those old bricks and cozy fireplaces.

We came home to magical luminaries lining our street on New Years, and a fat little happy tree.

The new year was filled with a few more work trips: NYC and Atlanta, and a stop on the way home to see my sister and co. We had a teaparty with our grandma's linens, threw slippery tennis balls to the dog, and pretended we were fairy queens, who also like to jump on the trampoline.

February's calm ended with a vicious cold for me, and a weekend in Boston to hear a Mahler symphony, Walker's favorite. My favorite part was going to all the Italian shops: Salumeria, Formaggio Kitchen for cheese, and Modern Pastry for (gf) cannoli, hearing Italian tossed like paper airplanes above the customers' heads. Here is an awkward alliance of the Symphony + Salumeria!

And, here we are at the verge of March. Between the flights, there are daily walks along the harbor trail, puppies jumping ahead of their owners to lick our gloves, salt kernels swept to the sides of the street, and feet up on the coffee table with a book.  A thin film of ice coats potholes and our toes clinks them to shards, the sound of glass.

The only wildlife a gull, flying over the street as I drive to the grocery on empty roads, the roads I have waited to empty for months. And then on our walk, a loon, aloof to the temperatures of the water, just a hair above ice. Enjoying a few simple weeks of this calm before the sun pulls us outside every moment we can.



It has been a good long while since we were here on the blog, and in that time the world has twirled a full pirouette, our new little state a small patch blurred into the skirt of the skies. I watch for falling stars sometimes, now that there is, when the moon is away, darkness. In that year, we have moved into our first home, and spent a few seasons cozying into our place on the hill overlooking the harbor. (Quick note that the good photos are Walker's; the blurry ones are my iPhone!) Each…


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