1.28.14

Another snow day.

 

I walked in the woods before the storm. 

1.26.14

Woodfire in Elizabeth's backyard last night to celebrate Jamie's 27th birthday. This morning my scarf smells like smoke.

1.25.14

Still growing.

1.22.14

Some days this job is extra hard. Tomorrow, in our weekly therapist meeting, I will report to my colleagues that I took care of myself after work today by eating Ben and Jerry's on the couch in flannel pj's and a winter hat.

I took this photo last Friday after work. I like how it sparkles. A dry and dormant winter grass, it still looks alive.

1.19.14

Shortly after buying my house from Carol last December, she and I ceremoniously cut down the aster that winds up the front stoop post. However, this was only after I carried in unknown quantities of aster seed through the front door each time I entered, attached to my coat sleeves and my hair, not to mention the boatloads of seed tracked in on my furniture as the movers hauled it up the front step. Cutting the aster down changed the whole look of the front door, but kept my floors clear of aster seed tumbleweed.

The aster came right back in the spring, as expected. Despite being quite the hardy plant, it struggled this year. Some creature - a deer, I imagine - kept eating it to the ground as it tried to stretch its way up the post. The plant ended up much smaller than last year, and I decided to keep it up through the winter. The tiny seeds end up in the house, yes, and especially on a day like today when the warm winter sun insists that you leave the front door open and take a seat on the front porch to eat soup and bread and cheese, letting the aster seeds float in and take up residence in the corners of the front room as they wish.  

1.18.14

Lucky me to start off the day with a morning visit to Hannah (and Ernie the beagle!) before she heads off to Colombia tomorrow. (Did you know that she's incredible?) Next, first visit to the farmer's market in weeks: carrots and beets from David Heeks, cabbage from Elyse, smoked farmer's cheese from the women of Chapel Hill Creamery, garlic from Farmer John. Then home to lunch of roasted cabbage and lentil soup with collards and Weaver Street lemon rosemary bread.

1.17.14

Weeds in the vegetable garden, your looks deceive you. One day soon, when the ground is damp, I will pull you out of the beds and start seeds in your place. The weeks until the last frost approach.

1.12.14

Sunshine illuminated the gray paint and white door exactly right this morning.

1.11.14

Spent the morning at RDU waiting for three different flights to Philadelphia to take off. None of them did. So sad to miss Kim's wedding.

Walked in my front door to the sound of tornado sirens, followed by black skies and sudden downpour. Through the back windows I watched my neighbor's rainwater barrel flowing out at the seams.

 

Now the sidewalks are slick, the ground is heavy, and my weekend is unexpectedly, bizarrely, open.

1.5.14

Early and slow Sunday morning. Writing New Year's Cards - yes, still. Coffee and oatmeal. Folk Alley. Gray day with plans for an afternoon walk, raining or not.

1.4.14

A brain-soothing woods walk after working on a Saturday.
Sometimes the pine needles drop into place like Christmas ornaments. Sometimes they scatter into a jumbled mess.

1.2.14

Daffodils, is it still too early for you to be peeking out of the ground? Or are you just happy because I weeded the small corner of yard at the front of the path where you grow? I'm so glad to see you, and I hope you stick around a while.

1.1.14

 

For the New Year: Collards cooked in bacon fat, cast iron cornbread, and a mug of tension tamer tea.