trick, no treat

Tonight there are no little ghosts and goblins knocking at our door. Halloween in York was postponed until Saturday. The streets are quiet and dark for now. It is a bit surreal. And here in Maine we sustained only minor damage from the hurricane. We are the lucky ones, eagerly waiting for text messages from friends and family to our south to say that they are okay. . . that huge trees only narrowly missed their house. . . that there's no power, but they can manage to boil water for coffee.

A scary time indeed.

For all of you affected, my thoughts and prayers are with you. And for my niece in Connecticut, who isn't sure there will be a Halloween at all, I'm sending candy kisses. xo

plenty

I have been reading Diana Henry's book Plenty, reveling in the wholesome goodness of her recipes. The sort of dishes that remind me how great it is to just "keep it simple." Classic roasts and rice dishes, flavorful vegetables, and rustic fruit tarts. All (generally) made with easily attainable ingredients. Around here, the selection at the local grocery store tends to become somewhat limited once the hoards of "summ-ah people" leave. The closest Whole Foods is an hour away. And yet, there is plenty.

I have rediscovered my love of beans and root vegetables. Like fresh carrots, julianned, and tossed with Maine butter and chives. Wax beans, just naked and slightly steamed, perhaps sprinkled with a pinch of sea salt. The evenings have become cold and it is getting dark earlier. The gentleman and I light the candles in the dining room and pour glasses of wine. The dog is curled up at our feet, and there is always a hot meal on our plates. We exchange stories of our days, and we are content. We have plenty.  

feeling fall

My mother remarked this morning that the seasons in Maine change quickly, and arrive promptly. Indeed, fall is here. The leaves are just past peak here in York, and we have a couple of frosts behind us already. I can see my breath in the air when I leave for work in the morning, and I've had to pull out my wool coat and scarves.

I have found several bird's nests in the driveway, blown from the huge old balsam tree by autumn winds. Their occupants have flown the coop, their babies are grown. The animals are busy gathering this year's bumper crop of acorns. Arborists call it a "mast year" (a scientific phenomenon that occurs every 2 to 7 years) . . . but a neighbor told me recently that a lot of acorns means it will be a hard winter. Who knows, perhaps it's just an old wives' tale, but I've told the gentleman he had better get that pile of wood split for the fireplace.

settling in

It seems strange to be posting these images from the summer, as we have just had our first frost up here in Maine. Since I last wrote in April, much has changed in our lives. The gentleman and I packed up our things and headed north, leaving behind the hustle and bustle of Washington. And though it was hard for me to say goodbye to friends of almost 20 years, it has been a good change. We are in awe of the beauty surrounding us, and the kindness of people who just four months ago were strangers to us.

We have begun a love affair with an old blue house. Its weather-beaten clapboards are in desperate need of paint, and there is a horrible lack of closets and bookshelves ~ but we couldn't imagine anything more perfect. Inside there is delightful mix of Georgian and Federal woodwork, rough plaster, wavy old glass, brick fireplaces, and uneven pine floors. Outside, there are masses of hydrangea bushes, blue thistles, lilacs, and an ancient apple tree. Our neighbor's apples and pears spill over the fence, and the huge old fir trees drop pine needles all over the driveway.

There have been challenges for both of us ~ starting new jobs, making new friends, and navigating a new grocery store. We have accomplished the daunting task of unpacking and settling in, and have finally have time to explore new roads. I don't know where this blog will go from here, but I know it will be both the same and different. How can it not be? Regardless, it will be an adventure.