....the dark

Yogis,
The winter solstice arrived on Saturday with our half of the earth tilted to its furthest point from the sun. A day she shined on us for a mere nine hours, twenty-six minutes and eighteen seconds. Leaving us in more than 14 hours of dark. 

The darkest time of year.

Each day moving forward will offer us under a minute more of light but it will be quite some time before we notice. The dark is a guest who is here to stay awhile.

Dark is given a bad rap. Nightmares, ghosts, bats, evil, shadows and sadness. Horror films always take place in the dark and we fear looking under the bed. Yet dark is necessary.

The dark asks, or sometimes forces us to do less. To sleep more. To step back from the chaos. Whether we want to or not. We can deny it, ignore it or wish for it to go away, but a better approach may be to change the perspective. Perhaps embrace, or at least acknowledge darkness.

See it.

Without the dark there would be no need for candles……and how I love to light candles. No one would see the twinkle lights that sparkle each evening on my front porch as the sun sets. I couldn’t put pajamas on and sneak to bed at 8:00 to read.

I wouldn’t feel the beams of the moon shining on me while I sleep.

We wouldn’t know the awe of a star filled sky.  Or the coziness of a fire with its woodsy smell, radiant glow, crackles and pops. Without the dark we would never witness a sunrise.

During this dark season, when we do receive a welcome ray of sun from low in the sky, we are more appreciative of her beauty.

Dark is also considered spiritual soil. With fewer hours to see the world with physical eyes, we can use this time for inner reflection. Coming face to face with what lurks on the inside. Like our fear of outer dark, the inner can hold the same. Be sure to bring the soft light of compassion and gentleness with you on this journey. If you choose to go, growth happens.

What do you see in the dark?

Closing my eyes,
SARAH

.....added layer

Yogis,
I am now fully immersed in Christmas-ing. Every spare moment has me baking, cleaning, ordering and wrapping. So much to do!

I do love Christmas itself. Everyone comes and we huddle together in a three-day cocoon filled with love, champagne and gifts. The preparation though, is a lot. The level of intensity that sets in soon after Thanksgiving causes me angst each year. 

But this year is different…..

Maybe it’s because I have just come off of a three month project to completely move out of our beach house. I remember when the builder first mentioned this as a requirement and as my jaw dropped, that same sensation of angst set it. So much to do. How will I possibly? Yet I now sit on the other side and somehow it all got done.

It made me realize that it would have all gotten done regardless of the angst. That angst was a layer I put on the process that was not a requirement. Like a blanket. A layer I chose.  

Wait! you say. A big move does cause angst! Not really. A move is just a move. Yes, there is a tremendous amount to do, but how I step through it all is absolutely my choice and I had chosen angst and somehow finally recognized it as what I also do to Christmas.

Seeing myself.

Soooooo…..as I shifted from beach house to ho, ho, ho, I did it more mindfully this year. Choosing not to rush. To be baking while I am baking, wrapping when I am wrapping, and not thinking of everything left to do. Going to stores early in the day when they are quiet so I can wander slowly and pause. Trusting without doubt that it will all get done with or without that added layer.

I am sure you will not be surprised to hear that I am enjoying the whole season so much more!

It may not be Christmas that has you pulling up that heavy blanket. Could be another holiday, an event, a relationship, your job, a season, travel……..  They all are what they are and it is always your choice on how to move through.

I am kicking off the blanket!
SARAH

.....the hum

Yogis,
This week I am discussing gratitude. Wait! Wasn’t that last week?

I am amazed how quickly we transition from Thanksgiving to Christmas. One minute eating the last bite of pumpkin pie, discussing things to be thankful for and in a blink of an eye carols are playing and buying commences. From grateful, right back to consuming.

A neatly packaged gratitude week amidst a world of catalogs, commercials and ads reminding us what we don’t have. Gratitude is for what is already here.

Gratitude, like a muscle, can’t be worked infrequently and be expected to stay strong. Gratitude is a practice like yoga, piano, weightlifting or art. To become competent requires daily attention.

At Thanksgiving we share how grateful we are for our family and health. Our homes and the delicious meal. Yes! But only scratching the surface. What about the things you can see, touch, smell and taste every day?

I am grateful for the color yellow. What would the world be without yellow? And so grateful for the blue hue of a cold ocean. The green and red of holly trees this time of year in their Christmas outfits and the pinks of a predawn sky.

I am grateful for dark chocolate. Every day…… That first bite of a good piece of pizza. Avocados, summer tomatoes and hearty winter soup.

I am grateful for the wren who sings her song outside my window announcing the arrival of spring and the crackling of a fire on a winter night. Geese flying overhead, the whistle of wind and yes, Christmas carols. Thunder.

For a hot shower, air conditioning, my winter hat, down comforters. The feeling of the sun on my face and sand on my feet. The moon, stars, flowers, deer, rainbows, trees…….

The hum of gratitude. Why turn it on? Because once it is set in motion you feel great. The chest widens and heart blooms. You realize how rich you already are!

And as an added bonus, the more gratitude you shine out, the more things to be grateful for are drawn toward you.

Bringing gratitude along for the holidays,

SARAH

....how did I get here

Yogis,
Do you ever have those moments where you suddenly stop and wonder ‘how did I get here?’

Now I don’t mean how was I created. That’s a discussion for another Sunday. But how did I get to this life that I am living right now. I had one of those moments as I stood at the edge of the ocean watching another sunrise.

Life is a series of steps. And every time we put one foot in front of another we are making a choice. Some steps are conscious, some seem random and others seem like sleepwalking. Yet every plant of the foot takes us in a direction.

How did I come to live in DC for example. It began with college. After narrowing down to five or six we took road trips to visit in person. I can still remember the impressions I had of each……made after only minutes. One I didn’t like because the tour guide was not friendly. Others too strict. Too big. Too academic. One appeared dreary (probably because it was a cloudy day).

Arriving at Georgetown’s campus though on a perfect spring day, the sky was blue and the sun shining. Students hanging out on Healy lawn. Golden retrievers leaping for thrown frisbees. Music in the air. Red solo cups in hands. Yes! This was what I wanted. Just like that I veered to DC, and I never left because I met someone.

Took a job at Xerox because my boyfriend worked there. Rented a group beach house in someplace called Rehoboth that summer, since everyone else was doing it. The ‘tacky shack’ we called it. Bought our first home and made new friends who started inviting us to their place in Rehoboth. Fast forward we buy a house there. Now my sister and sister-in-law have homes here too.

Steps intertwine.

My alarm goes off and I have a choice. The sky is beginning to lighten out my window.  I swing my legs over the bed and dress for running. I lace up my shoes and step out the door to go find the sun.

How did I get here? (I keep thinking of the Talking Heads). I chose it.

Where to step next,
SARAH

.....old friends

Yogis,
A friend who was a running partner for years asked if we could run together again. After ten years of solo 5:30 am running, what a welcome change to have someone to share stories with on dark cold mornings.

I then heard from a friend who now lives in Virginia asking to get together for a hike. We settled on the trails in her town followed by lunch at an adorable French café. We try to do something every few months.

My week wrapped up with our annual Lobsterfest gathering. This year eight of us converged at my home for an evening of good food, good drinks and laughter. Lots of laughter.

I have history with all of these people. Meeting them in my twenties, we have traveled life together. Raised children, navigated careers, life milestones, illnesses and even the heartaches of death.

I call these old friends.

It got me thinking. What defines an ‘old friend’? Is it because we are old?

There certainly has been a lot of discussion this year on aging. That happens in your sixties. All of us in various stages of retirement, decisions on where to live, and inevitable turns in conversations to physical changes and ailments we are experiencing. Way more discussions on facial hair, feet, arthritis……than I could have envisioned in my youth.

Yet it isn’t age that makes us old friends. And it isn’t the length of time we know them. You can be friends with someone for a long time without that label.

My friend sent a note saying how easy our time together felt this week. Yes! I had noticed the exact same thing. Comfortable. Like putting on your favorite old sweater on the first cold day. It feels right.

We all know each other so well. They know my past and I know theirs. We go months or years without seeing each other, yet as we walk through the door it’s as if not a moment has passed. Effortless. And I know that if there is anything I ever need, I can count on them implicitly.

That’s what makes old friends.

I am grateful to have many,
SARAH

....cycles

Yogis,
The raking season has begun…..

I raked the front yard at home and then spent dedicated time at the beach this weekend gathering and pushing heavy piles of leaves to the street. This is only the beginning. A first pass.

There is something about raking, and fall in general, that reminds me of the cyclical nature of life. How everything, including these leaves I move mindfully to protect my back, is created, enjoys a life span and comes to an eventual end. Everything.

This year it is hitting me in a somewhat different way. That even the things we most enjoy may at some point become something we are meant to release. Perhaps it is because I sit here surrounded by bubble wrap, packing paper and moving boxes. In a month our 1926 beach cottage will begin its transformation with an addition and remodel and while I am excited, there is also a sadness.

For twenty-two years I have loved the house just the way it is. Old pine floors, a powder room where you hold your knees in close not to bump the sink as you sit, and corner closets that if you are lucky, can hold a couple hanging shirts. We hosted numerous Thanksgiving dinners for up to twenty and fit the visiting kids in the bunk room with sleeping bags and mattresses. The house has done her job for us beautifully.

Yet life is changing and wanting to spend more time here has pushed us to let go of how things are and embrace what lies ahead. Still keeping the cottage charm we will be able to spread our wings, and our cramped living room furniture, a bit more.

This happens with everything. I had a volunteer role I adored until it suddenly  began to feel like a chore. We may lose passion for a lifelong hobby. A career feels stuck. Our interests, food choices, what we read, our clothes…..all live within this natural and inevitable cycle of life. The challenge is recognizing the time to let go and move on.

I better get back to packing.

Only when we release is there room for new,
SARAH

.....words

Yogis,
In my love affair with words I have learned to respect the power each one holds. A word, like everything else in the Universe, is an energy. Sounds, which when put together in a particular way, form a vibration. Every vibration then in turn has an effect on whatever or wherever it is directed.

Words have impact.

We can feel it in our bodies. When I say the word ‘tangy’ I feel it in the upper body with an almost shiver like experience. But when I say the word ‘mellow’ the movement of energy is calm and low.

Every single word we speak affects the world……and ourselves. Words can bring unity, shame, lift spirits, anger or create joy.  Makes you realize how careful we should be with words. The old adage….think before you speak (although I prefer….feel before you speak.)

You know that inner voice who chatters all day long with no lunch break or vacation? We each have one and those internal words have the same effect. Words do not have to leave the lips to yield power. In fact, often inner ones are even stronger because they have us held captive.  

This is where mantra comes in. A sacred utterance…..  Words or sentences repeated which change your vibration.

We can choose the words for that incessant internal dialogue. It may not feel like it. The voice pretends to be boss, but buried below lies the quiet one who can decide what it says. Mantra can make this process a little easier.

Let’s try it together.

Fall has settled in here as acorns and leaves rain down. A season of letting go. We too can choose to let go.

Settle into your seat and get quiet. Notice you are breathing. Tune to that inner space. Once you feel you’ve arrived, mentally repeat the mantra ‘I let go’ and pay attention to any sensations in the body or changes in how you feel. Slowly Over and over. Try closing the eyes or repeating it only on exhales.

Choose the words that vibrate the way you want to.

This week may be the perfect time to work with this practice,
SARAH

.....never the same

Yogis,
Those who know me know I like going to the same places over and over. Whether a vacation to the Outer Banks or Stone Harbor (close to 40 years), the trails I hike, or the restaurants I eat in, I enjoy the act of returning. Again and again and again.

I was thinking about this while sitting by the Cabin John creek with Phoebe at my side. The park sits a mile from home and offers winding wooded trails and a running creek, all framed by incredible views with craggy rock formations. I have been there hundreds of times and usually in the same mile radius.

Many people may think it would be boring. Going to the same place day after day and seeing the same things? Don’t I want to go to new places? But nothing really ever is the same…..is it. In fact, every time I go, the creek is new.

Nothing stays the same.

Today it was the reflections in the water that caught my attention. A beautiful fall day with a light breeze causing a ripple on the surface, creating images reminiscent of impressionist paintings. Designs and swirls asking which way is up.

The trees that only last week wore a deep emerald green are now tinged with color. Early fallen leaves lay on rocks in reds and oranges. The songs of the insects softer now.

My reflection mirrors me as I carefully step rock to rock. Who I see below has also changed from years of these visits. A little creakier but strong. Wisdom lines carved in my skin. Small life shifts happen as seasons change.

A rock cairn will appear and vanish days later. The air, shadows, sounds…..vary every moment. Plants arrive and grandfather trees fall, blocking my path. I climb over. A new path will quickly form from footsteps of those who find a way around. Mushrooms come and go. Wildflowers. Snakes. An infinite number of potential differences from one day to the next.

Only because I know it so well can I see and appreciate the changes. The newness every time.

Same places.....never the same,
SARAH

....newer isn't better

Yogis,
One of my favorite ways to prepare vegetables is to roast them. Many kinds. Peppers, onions, broccoli, carrots, cauliflower, beets…… often with small potatoes. Spread on a cookie sheet, massaged with a little olive oil and sprinkled with salt and any herbs or flavorings that feel right. Perfect for this time of year. Easy and delicious.

I like to cook mine pretty well. To that point where their texture changes and they begin to crystallize a bit. Sweeten. Often seeming like a different vegetable from when I slid them in to cook.

Recently I opened up the pan drawer of my oven. In there lies a stack of baking sheets in a variety of sizes. And a variety of ages. The new ones sit shiny and clear of any stains. They look so pretty. Others are now dark and splotchy. At first glance you would think I hadn’t cleaned them, but I know I always do.

For a while I tended to grab the new ones. I prepared the veggies the same way and cooked at the same temperature but for some reason they weren’t quite as tasty. Hhmmm…… Then one time I grabbed one of the oldies but goodies. An aha moment ensued. They cooked better!

Of course. It makes sense. Like my cast iron pans the more they are used, seasoned and loved, the better meals they produce. New isn’t necessarily better.

I was given some wooden salad tossers a couple years ago. I love their look and as an avid salad maker, I use them many times a week. During clean up I would give them a good scrub with soap. I started noticing though they felt a little dried out when I held them. I began lightly rinsing them off with warm water, allowing some of the oils to stay intact.  They too now feel more alive and loved. Cleaner isn’t always better.

Applying the same principles now to my wooden salad bowl, I can see the colors deepening. Aging to perfection.

Our grandmothers knew this.

The earth could benefit from us all falling back in love with what we already have,
SARAH

.....harvest

Yogis,
Each morning I walk out the front door, and each morning there is a little pile of dirt next to the potted plant on the steps. I sweep it up and scoop it back into the planter. I can barely see the walnut that has been buried there.

The flagstone path leading to the driveway is littered with acorns from the old oak above. They crunch as I walk. I startle the mother deer and her two little ones resting in the front grass. I imagine they ate so many nuts overnight that they have an acorn hangover and had decided it was easier to sleep where they were then to stagger home.

Chipmunks scurry across the yard with cheeks filled. Oblivious to my footsteps as their focus has shifted to food storage. Collect and unload. Collect and unload. Newly flocking birds land in the trees creating a raucous as they feast. They all know.

It is harvest season. Seeds, fruits, nuts.  A bounty literally falling on us from above.

My garden knows it too. The herbs are experiencing their last blast of growth and asking to be used. This week I will make my herbed salts with the now dense sage and aromatic rosemary. It’s time to dry some oregano and put thyme in vinegar. I take seeds from the drying flowers and scatter them in other parts of the yard.

Using this time of harvest to prepare for winter.

My CSA veggie share is moving back into dark greens, eggplant, squash, garlic and potatoes. Foods that nourish. I had my first acorn squash of the season for dinner the other night. Amazing. No additions needed.

This harvest season reminds me each year of the magnificent abundance of our world. That we are all already rich.

I wrote this while sitting on the front porch. The entire time I was surrounded by the sounds of various critters scampering through dried leaves…..which will later be used to reinforce their nests. All reveling in the gifts that have been bestowed.

Grateful for the bounty,
SARAH

....catchy

Yogis,
Friday was dreary as we drove to the Chesapeake Bay. Humid, soggy and drizzling. Saturday morning was more of the same. In fact, the whole week had followed this exact same pattern. Frizzy hair and damp shoes the look of the day.

Yet the Universe delivered! A parting of the clouds exposed brilliant blue skies and warm rays of sunshine just in time for the main event. An outdoor wedding I was officiating of a young woman I have known her whole life and her fiancé I’ve had the immense pleasure of connecting to. These two were so clearly in love and I was given the honor of joining their lives together.

With grass as our carpet and trees the décor we began the ceremony in a gazebo. By the end there were not many dry eyes in the crowd. We could all feel it. Love.

Love is the most universal, the most tremendous and the most mysterious of the cosmic forces.
~ Teilhard de Chardin

These two love each other profoundly. The heartfelt vows they wrote and read publicly were a gift to us all. They emanated love. And love is catchy.

Cocktails in a boat shed let us all begin to know each other better which then drifted to a tent on the bay. The setting ……stunning. By now we were giddy. Couples holding hands. Hugs and toasts abounding.

Then the band started….. Now we are dancing together, caring not if we knew the person in front of us, forming circles, letting go into the joy permeating the night air. But it didn’t stop there.

The newlyweds have their own band and took to the stage. Looking around, the crowd was standing shoulder to shoulder singing and cheering as the bride and groom glowed. Everyone’s heart a size larger than when the afternoon had begun.

Weddings are special. A day to step out of the world and soak in a deep pool of love. And boy does it feel good!

They love each other. We love them. Through this we are all now joined.

Sunday morning as my eyes opened, the clouds had returned. Mist back in the air.

Love though, remained,
SARAH

.....pearls

Yogis,
Every one of us is unique. Each with special gifts we offer the world. Gifts that impact other’s lives and will one day leave a legacy when we no longer walk this earth. My father is no exception.

This weekend we all convened in NJ to celebrate the accomplishment of a 90^th birthday with him. Wow. Ninety years is a long time and he and the rest of us were ready to party. An afternoon event at our usual spot for big milestones with over sixty in attendance.

Also as usual, he made a grand entrance.  Walking in on my sister’s arm wearing a robe and hat, hobbling with a cane. A Kiss is Just a Kiss playing softly. The song suddenly changes to Stayin Alive, the volume escalates, the cane tossed, robe thrown off, his signature yellow lens glasses go on and a dance ensues. Those of you who know him can instantly imagine it.

But what struck me most from the afternoon was the ‘entertainment’ while we ate salads. Figuring everyone was sick of always hearing from my sister and I, the five grandchildren took over. Each stood and shared a few of Pop pop’s pearls of wisdom, while wearing yellow lens glasses of course. We all know and love his pearls. They are part of what make him….him.

‘Good enough’ my niece shared. Good enough is most often enough. No need for perfection.

‘Do good and avoid evil……..Everything in moderation…….Two must haves when considering a spouse – shared humor and political party….. When you go to college always go to class (even with a hangover, even if you don’t listen) and don’t ever sleep in your clothes…..Don’t EVER look at the dinner menu until you have received your drink.’

And the one I have taken to heart and try to live my life by is ‘Everyone is doing their best.’

They go on and on. All of us know them. All of us think of him each time we are in a situation where his words play in our head. All of us affected by his wisdom.

In his speech he announced he won’t pass…. He will die. Sooooo dad.

My dad is awesome,
SARAH

....roots

Yogis,
As a certified tree hugger (yes, I actually hug them at times), I have always been in awe of their roots. Certain trees allow us a view of them spreading above ground, giving a glimpse into what lies below. The fact that roots burrowing into dirt can feed and hold up trees that seem to touch the sky, through wind, rainstorms and drought for hundreds of years is incredible. And no two sets are exactly alike.

There are skinny roots and those grown thick and gnarly. Some that spread far and wide and ones that quickly disappear from view. Others crisscross along paths giving me a place to plant each foot as I hike through. The ones along the creek and river remind me of ballerinas dancing on the tips of their toes.

They are all intricate and beautiful in their own right.

Imagine my surprise when this ad crossed my feed:  How to hide unsightly tree roots in your yard.

Unsightly? What? Could this be serious? I looked it up and found that yes, it is a thing with many options from landscapers on how to get them out of view so your lawn can look neater. Tidier.

Yikes. Please don’t cover up your tree roots. Putting even a couple of inches of soil on them can suffocate the tree. Instead, sit with them, listen and take a good look. See them with new eyes.

Children know this. We have an enormous oak tree out front at the base of which my boys created little forts among the roots. My granddaughter recently commented on how intertwining roots under two river trees made the perfect nest area for a nap. She was right. They invite you in.

They weave and bend, intertwine and reach. A complex network creating stability in a shaky world.

My hope is we will not allow our world of marketing to do to tree roots what it did in the past to our precious dandelions and clover. Nature knows what she is doing and if we allow her to paint the world her way, we will be surrounded by beauty…..and nourished by her roots.

Nature as sculptor,
SARAH 

....the skipper

Yogis,
While working in the garden I develop relationships. Relationships with plants, each with their own personality. Relationships with birds as I watch them raise new families. Relationships with dragonflies, bees, swallowtails and the occasional turtle, snake or frog. I talk to them, observe them and of course, photograph them. A lot. I make sure they have clean water, nesting materials, cover and their native food.

They in turn give me joy and companionship.

There are some though that develop a special place in my heart and one of those is the Skipper.

Skippers are a group of butterflies with over 3500 species that are named for their quickness with speeds up to 20mph. One minute they are on the leaf in front of you, the next across the garden, before darting behind you. Here I am, they say!

They come in a variety of colors. Most of the ones in my garden are clothed in golds and browns, some with a white spot. They are quite small, yet stocky and sturdy with a body covered in hairs causing them to be confused as moths. You can tell they are butterflies though by the little clubs at the top of their antennae. Many believe they live in a world between butterflies and moths.

And they love flowers! I find them most often skipping from my bright colored zinnias to echinacea, sunflowers and bergamot. They use their long tubelike proboscis to suck up nectar before curling and retracting it back in like a hose. Important daytime pollinators, I am grateful to have them around.

If you spend time with a skipper they will become comfortable and let you approach. Once close you can see their big bulging eyes which will turn to look right at you, and I swear at times it appears that they break into a smile. They do not shy from attention.

They will even land on your arm and stay for a spell as you continue trimming and weeding. A gentle presence. I like that.

What a big personality packed into such a small creature!

Relationships,
SARAH

.....synchronicities

Yogis,
I had the joy of spending this past week with my almost six-year-old granddaughter. Leisurely days with no set agenda where I could give her my full attention. Who doesn’t like having someone’s full attention!

The first day we picked oracle cards from my spirit animal deck. Each animal offers a message. I picked one that spoke to the power of synchronicities.

“What are synchronicities?” asked Abigail. I paused to find the right words to describe something that isn’t easy to put in six-year-old terms. I gave examples and felt she had some sense of what I was trying to explain.

Synchronicities. I later looked up the definition. ‘The simultaneous occurrence of events which appear significantly related but have no discernable causal connection.’  See what I mean?

We both forgot as we moved through the week doing things girls like to do. Yoga and playing with stuffies. Putting hair sparkles in our hair. Riding the carousel, hiking the creek and of course, a dance party. On Thursday I painted our toenails. I chose an orangey color for the beach and she selected a pretty pink.

Friday morning, I asked what she wanted to wear. Holding up a short set with stripes she at first said no. But then she shared that when she put it on for the first time her mother said she looked as cute as a button. Yes, she would wear it after all.

An image flashed on my inner screen. Downstairs I went right to our nail polishes. I called her over to show her the pink bottle. ‘Cute as a button’ it read. She looked at me with surprise and asked where I got the sticker.  No, I told her. That was the name of the polish. Her eyes grew wide!

THAT is a synchronicity. We can define them all day, but it is the inner jolt that can never be fully explained.

Pay attention. The more in the flow of life you are, the more synchronicities appear. Each one like a neon sign indicating you are heading the right way.

And she was indeed cute as a button,
SARAH

....bittersweet

Yogis,
Every year August begs to be put into words. Not this year, I say to myself, yet she keeps pointing out that there is more to notice. She’s right. I love August so I listen and put pen to paper.

I love July too though. The bright days, vivid colors and intensity. A month filled with a partylike atmosphere ushered in by summer. Fireworks and parades. Scorching heat. Sweat and rollercoasters. The sun, like a late-night partier, still hanging out when I head to bed.

August though, feels softer. Quieter. The sense we have gone over the peak. Still summer…..still warm…..still colorful. Yet not quite.

Bittersweet.

I love how August begins to throw in some mornings where the thermometer reads in the 60s and an unexpected cool breeze blows through while dining outside. Blissful to the skin, yet deep inside a knowing that it is a precursor of what lies ahead, even while afternoons climb to the 80s. I push the feeling back down. Not yet.

There are still flowers left to bloom. Goldenrod is on the cusp of her time in the sun. Cardinal flower shines her brilliant red blossoms from the damp corners of my yard. A favorite for hovering hummingbirds. Yet many flowers are beginning to fade. Most of the echinacea is drying now. A bonanza for goldfinches who feast on their seeds.  

Bathing suit departments cleared for school supplies.

Bittersweet.

So, I eat corn on the cob and peaches with a hint of urgency as they too will soon disappear. Pumpkins will replace watermelons in the blink of an eye. Next week glimpses of yellow passing school buses will join the hue of goldenrod.

No, summer is not over. The hum still remains. Peppers, basil and tomatoes continue making August dinners special and I still have a whole week at the beach ahead. Shorts, sandals and t-shirts. I will make time for more ice cream cones and boardwalk games.

But an image of me pulling on jeans for the first time lies just beneath the surface.

Bittersweet,
SARAH

....to know a place

Yogis,
Running on the canal this morning I heard the familiar sound. The Star-Spangled Banner playing over a loudspeaker at the nearby navy’s model basin. A daily ritual. It must be 8 o’clock!

I know this place.

Growing up we moved every couple years. My father worked for Bell Labs and every time he was given a new role we packed up the house and moved to another state. Georgia, Chicago, New Jersey…… New town, new school, new house. As a child you believe that is how life is and pick out the new carpet for your bedroom. I think this is why I am so adaptable today.

Yet I have now lived on the same street in the same town for 37 years. I know this place.

We form relationships with place not unlike the developing of friendships. Each take time, curiosity, patience and a sense of humor.

In the first couple of years, you scratch the surface. Learning the roads and knowing where to shop. It starts to feel familiar but it isn’t until much later that deep connections form.  A relationship where inner secrets are slowly revealed.

After all of this time I know her history. Every curve in her paths. When the hummingbirds arrive and where the deer lie to rest. It took time but now I know my way to the hidden patch of ramps which appear each spring without fail and which of the trees on the river are likely to offer hard to find pawpaw fruits in late summer.

Who to ask when I have garden questions and which mailperson gives out dog treats. The best times of year to climb over to islands usually submerged where Phoebe and I alone can explore terrain that feels other worldly.  Where to sit and where to find shells.

But as with a friendship, you also unearth the challenges. The flight path overhead and buzz of the highway when the wind blows a certain way. The costs and at times stifling humidity. Yet you love them anyway.

A deep relationship with this place. A home. So grateful we met.

Where are you in your relationship?
SARAH