Wednesday, March 12, 2014

The Return

I think the melting has begun.

I'm easing back into this space, snatching little chunks, reclaiming time to put my thoughts down and to do what is so dear to me, photographing and capturing how we spend our days. This transition to the farm has been a doozy in so many ways, both heartbreaking and heartwarming at turns, and I haven't always felt the desire or ability to write, here. To say our days are full is trite, but nonetheless, they are. And as just about everyone in the U.S. knows, this winter has been rough weather-wise, and rough on five people learning to live together in this new old place, this one filled with ghosts and haunts, some cold with longing and rigid with bitterness, at that.

I miss, too, the scent of our other home, our Mermaid House, the familiar corners and light, where spaces are now empty, shelves hold no books, and nails stick out from plaster as accusatory reminders of our abandonment.

Empty spaces, half empty shelves, bare nails. I miss the scent of this house, the familiar corners and light. On the heels of a hard couple of weeks, I struggle with homesickness. The only ghosts that are here belong to us, we created this home, rescued i

Did you miss me? I've missed you.

Oh, just stopping in to pick up my springform pans because birthday season approaches.

That's what I think and feel on the hardest days. A homesickness so deep it draws great sobs up and bursting out of me until I am doubled over with...change. It's not loss, truly, it's only change. Change that we asked for and sought and work so very hard for. And it is wickedly wicked, some days.

Then there are moments, hours, days, where this change seems easy and natural. When order is created out of chaos, when photos and art find homes here on these farmhouse walls, when meals are eaten together, cooked in this kitchen, when new skills are acquired, when we spend hours rebuilding this place, and when we explore our greater community and extend ourselves.

There's someone watching me.

This project is shaking the entire house. We'll all be so glad when this part is done. The rest of the work will be comparatively easy. #diy #renovations

They found the old snowshoes. #unschooling #teens #maine

It's the little pleasures.

In the kitchen with Olivia.

French bread to go with the tortellini soup.

Max the Cat adores Adam, it's true. It just happens that he doles out the love right around dinner time.

Olivia, as part of Equality Maine's New Leaders Project, is off to shadow a legislator, today. #unschooling #activism #maine #LGBTQIA+ #teen #eqme #newleaders

To review over breakfast, our town's Annual Report, and Town Meeting is next weekend. #maine

Late January in Rockland, Maine.

Olivia's pretty hair. These two make me laugh all day long. Being out with Adam is like having my own riff track along with me. I basically spend my time not being able to walk and wheeze laughing.  #love #teens

Yarn store

Turkeygram: they come down off the ridge like it's dawn at Helm's Deep, rushing Adam as he scatters feed. It's kind of freaky.

It feels warm out here, despite the new snow.

In these moments, I know that home is us, not the house. I clutch that knowledge, cling to it, letting it settle in my bones. Home is us. Not the house. And winter is almost done.

1 comment:

  1. I drove by the old farmhouse yesterday - it looks beautiful!



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