Planting Season.

At long last, planting season has finally really arrived here in our neck of the woods in the Pacific Northwest. I feel a bit breathless from all the waiting. I’ve been dreaming about this gardening space for two years, and planning it out for the past five months. The garden beds, representing months of periodic…

Old farmy things.

Things are happening in our house. Good things. We’re finishing our kitchen. We have fancy new accouterments like kitchen trim and wainscoting and columns and–voila!–a kitchen island that is anchored in one place instead of scooting around the room if you bump into it. Soon we’ll have shelves to put our drinking glasses and dinnerware….

Building our farm–one garden bed at a time.

As most of you know, we are trying to live off of our land this year–eating only the food and eggs we grow on our land along with other local protein sources (and necessities we can’t grow here, like coffee and spices). Our goal is pretty straightforward: Eat beautiful fresh food; preserve it for winter;…

This moment: Vacation.

This rare moment of just the two of us–Brian and me–was snapped by Brian’s mom Barbara when we were sitting on the beach in San Diego’s Mission Bay. We were staring directly into blinding sun–the kind of southern California sun that we just don’t get in our northern climate. Barbara managed to get a shot…

From a distance.

When I was in college, I applied to study abroad in Italy through the writing program offered at my school, The University of Washington. They have a 100-year lease with a beautiful building overlooking the Campo de Fiori in Rome, and it still operates as their Italian campus for a variety of programs for University…

Lights out.

We lost power last night following a snowy windstorm on a freezing day.  We built a roaring fire, cooked a pile of pasta and fresh veggies and sausage, and the kids whittled by candlelight. There is a beauty to these long moments of pause. No music, no phones, no computers, no movies. Just the sound…

Friends.

I live on an island. I think I’ve mentioned this before. Our kids are fifth-generation islanders–those special, moss-laden little barnacled beings that hang out in the deep dark mud in the middle of sports season and are semi-convinced it’s fun until they get home and have to thaw their fingers in a shower, bundle in…