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One of the oddest things about living here in the Pacific North West is the way seasons just sort of slide into one another; cuddling up together and blurring the lines. Seasons just seems to blend together until one day you wake up and realize that maybe you missed the end of one and beginning of another. It is a great mystery to an immigrant like me. The best part though, is how when I think I have finally figured out the weather will change for days on end and throw you for a loop.

And that is our December. A month that ushers in ‘winter’ with torrents of rain, grey skies, and muddy boots. Not this year: there has been almost no rain for weeks. The skies are crisp blue and clear- we can even see the sun most days without a shield of cloud. As someone who adores the downpours and feels the grey skies feeding her soul, I am unsure of this december.

Funny isn’t it? I used to know the seasons by the snow, and now I am learning a whole new approach (one that cannot really be predicted anyhow). Truth is, despite the distance from the familiar, this place is the one I call home. I never thought I would say that, but it doesn’t make it less true today.

Have you ever been here? You’d fall in love too. The people are odd, weird even, but more welcoming and kind than you’d expect. There is an attitude of acceptance, growth, innovation, and community in all the places I have found. The forests are green- and I really do mean green from top to bottom. There is desert, rain forest, coast, city, mountains…everything.

Perhaps I love this place a little more than any other because it is here where I find the freedom to dream about my future, and enjoy today with the man I love. It is in the meadows just outside the city where I picture the cottage- in the forests where we speak and think more clearly. And, even though our lives aren’t exactly what we pictured (or perhaps even wanted), we are happy. We are blessed.

And, whether this transplant can recognize it or not, whether the rain comes or not, winter is coming. Or maybe it is already here. I don’t really know, but it will come anyways.

(And for that, I am thankful)



It is only now dawning on me, weeks after having made the decision, that we are moving again. Moving isn’t that big of a deal to me any more, not really. Since we got married a little over four years ago we have moved a total of eight times. Some of those moves were together, some were not. A few times we moved with only that which we could fit in our faithful Toyota Camery or two airline-approved suitcases. We are pretty used to moving. And I know this wont be the last time- there is something slightly nomadic about my heart that doesn’t mind that for now.

It’s the packing that gets to me. Putting all my things into boxes, not knowing exactly where they are or where they will go. ┬áThankfully, this move will not be confined to those things that will fit in our car, so they worst part about moving, the purging, will not be a part of the process. Oddly enough, my most dreaded task is packing away my books. A home, even if it is one from which you are moving on, does not feel right without books on the shelves. So here I am, staring at my bookshelves, wondering how long I can put off packing them away before our January First moving date. Probably not much longer with the week of Christmas fast approaching.

A few weeks ago we went to see our friend’s house here on the island. A lovely little two bedroom home on their farm that they are willing to rent to us for a while. There are a lot of things about moving that I am looking forward to: farm views, space of our own, cooking again in my own kitchen, and quiet. There is also this lovely little incentive of falling asleep in our brand new bed- our first big purchase together. I think Gary will be happy to be in his own space again too. The time is right and if all I need to do is get through the packing to make it work… agreed.


a tea for everything

More Pictures

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