goodbye, little house

Little house, I’ve lived in you for over five years. But tomorrow, I’m going away to live with the boy I love.

You took good care of me. Much better care than I took of you, I’m sure. Within your walls I’ve read a hundred books, cried a thousand tears, drank probably as many bottles of wine, and eaten countless meals—mostly good, but some bad. Here, I learned to cultivate my own ingredients. I formed what are probably my greatest, most valuable life-long habits: Growing my own food, and cooking it.

Here I limped home after my first ever yoga class, and repeated the process hundreds of times over. On many summer nights I’ve rolled up to your brick-red steps on my bike, arriving joyfully through a haze of perhaps one too many beers with friends at the Rose and Crown. Or wine at Gravity. Or who knows what, at who knows who’s house.

Here I lived a proper single girl’s life, sharing my bed with a few who probably weren’t worthy, and one who certainly was. Here I lived when my father died. When my grandfather died. When the painful end of a painful years-long relationship finally came, long (LONG) overdue. You comforted me through all this, and more.

You were home to Bowie, too. A special, death-defying cat with the loving personality of a borderline violent schizophrenic who I adore anyway, and am dragging along with me on my journey, whether he likes it or not (he doesn’t like it).

My new home is bigger and newer than you. The windows don’t operate on ropes, and there’s no 1920′s charm to speak of. Never again will I feel the whole house jolt when the washer switches cycles, or the pipes burst open at the command of the sprinkler timer. My mother isn’t down the street, and my best friends aren’t a hop, skip, or jump away.

But it’s where my chickens live. It’s where Zoe the dog lives. It’s where love lives.

So here I go. I’ll miss you, but I won’t mourn you. You helped me grow, learn, and live, and I can only hope that your next roommates will appreciate you as much as I do. I’m so grateful that I’m not sure how I can repay you. Since you’re a house.

Goodbye. <3

aurelius via stienbeck

“Observe constantly that all things take place by change, and accustom thyself to consider that the nature of the universe loves nothing so much as to change things which are and to make new things like them. For everything that exists is in a manner the seed of that which will be.”

free verse #1

He came home every day smelling like an American,
of engine oil, cigarettes, and domestic lager,
and called me a name that wasn’t mine,
but made me feel more like myself than anything.

He had a face like the weather.
Grey and impassive if all was calm,
radiant and adoring if you were lucky,
and menacing as an approaching funnel cloud if you weren’t.

His expressions were blue-eyed harbingers
often tinged with reddened vessels,
that revealed the intensity of his emotions,
but seldom the emotion behind his intensity.

Four years gone, and the only time the tears come
is when I’m caught by a vivid recollection
of the way he smiled with his entire face.
I’ve been told I do it too.

first salad of spring

Spring is here! Spring is here! As the weather changes throughout the year, I try to create at least one salad that represents the season and its bounty. Here’s my first crack at spring:

arugula, kumato tomatoes, sauteed asparagus and corn, crisped prosciutto,
peppery goat cheese, and a poached farm egg from Birch and Kristine‘s chickens

It’s not mind-blowing but it’s a damn good start. I have some more ideas, and who knows, maybe one of them won’t involve goat cheese.

Or pork.

Unlikely, though.


For my birthday last month, finack gave me an amazing lensbaby that I swear I had totally not been dropping hints about for six months. On a recent trip to Tahoe, I got to test it out for the first time. They’re no great works of art, but I’m pleased anyway. It takes a lot of time to get used to this lens, and I can only use it for short periods of time; it tends to give me a bit of a headache, constantly searching so hard through one squinty eye for the “sweet spot” of focus.

little tree steps

I still don’t ski (skis belong in watery water, not frozen water), but it turns out I don’t hate the snow as much as I thought. Having appropriate footwear in which to tromp around and take photos sure helps. The full album is here.