A busy blessed month with more than its fair share of pictures. The highlights…
2) A little move to the country.
3) Settling in, moments of welcome calm.
4) Finding my stride in a new work place.
5) In the midst of it all, savoring the beautiful things.
xo ~Olivia
If there is anything that characterized this year, it is the idea of encouragement in the small things. There were new trips and exciting adventures of course. I traveled to Virginia, Augusta and Auburn on my own to spend time with friends. Wesley and I took an impromptu overnight trip to Fort Walton Beach and discovered some of the best tacos we’ve ever eaten. We went camping in the rain one weekend and stayed up extremely late grilling steak on roasting sticks. I crossed a few more waterfalls off my list.
And then there were the weekend rhythms of coffee shops and drives and reoccurring events we look forward to every year. Our trip to Canada was filled with family visits, exploring Fredericton breweries and camping in Acadia National Park. There was birthday sushi, u-pick blueberries, picking out the Christmas tree, canoeing the same creeks. This year more than ever, I felt a sense of grounding and familiarity as we navigated the calendar.
Finally, there were the difficult things. Loss, conflict and down days; the defining moments that we’d never choose, but mark our progress. 2019 was a growing year and in all the ordinary and unexpected it was clear to see we serve a patient, sovereign father who is slowly changing us to who He’d have us be. A good way to end the decade.
A good way to begin the next.
Autumn in the south is less about cooling temperatures as it is about deepening golden hours and leaves falling from the trees because we haven’t had rain in over a month.
I’ll take the crunch beneath my feet anyway I can get it.
And for the two seconds we did have breezy weather last weekend, I wasted no time in cracking out all the earl gray, long walks, cleaning and candlelight that autumn deserves.
Hygge with a side of humidity.
Watching plants grow has to be the single most satisfying summer activity.
Seeds, planted with a swish and pat, flowering out and producing sturdy, yellow squash. Green tomatoes the size of marbles loading down branches.
Even the pepper plants, finally leafing out under the chicken wire cages bring a sense of triumph.
Everything plant related is a mystery here in Alabama, but after the initial frustration I’ve learned there is a special satisfaction in learning and having success.
It ends up being a good illustration for moving to a new place. At first there is the exasperation, the feeling of being overwhelmed with simple errands.
Then you take a risk here, walk into a new place there – and before long you have your well worn paths around town.
A sea of faces turn into friendly faces and then they become familiar. The names on the tip of your tongue instead of somewhere deep enough to dig.
And like gardening, with some of the hard work of turning soil behind you, there is a special joy when new leaves start unfurl. New fruit, different coloured blooms and things I didn’t know were even seeded in my heart.
A charm from the sky
Seems to hallow us there
Which seek thro’ the world
Is ne’er met with elsewhere
This post has been sitting in my drafts for a few months. We just got back from Canada, the weather here is far from breezy. But a picture of rhubarb squares on my phone reminded me of this winter’s longing. So I’m posting away. That, plus a recipe.
When we don’t know we think something…
there is smell and sound.
The weather has been hovering between breezy and warm and all the birds are rejoicing. I’m getting outside every day.
And sometimes when I step outside I have deja vu of Spring trips to Ontario. It’s the brick and blossoms and white legs of winter.
On a walk, I smelled someone cutting their grass. Inknew that if I closed my eyes, I could be lying in cool New Brunswick lawn and someone would be setting the porch table for hamburgers.
This morning, as I write at the kitchen table, the door is open. A man in shorts is trying to paint the stairs on the apartment next door. There is a table saw running somewhere.
The sounds of working and living and suddenly I imagine the rhubarb cake I used to make when winter was a season that finally broke and things began to grow.
I don’t think I’ve felt this homesick yet. All for the sake of a rhubarb cake.
Rhubarb Custard Squares
Mix 1 1/2 c. flour + 3/4 c. cold butter + 1/4 c. sugar in 9×13 pan. Press flat. Cook at 350 for 15 minutes. Turn oven down to 325.
In a bowl mix 3 eggs+ 1 c. sugar + 1/2 c. flour + 1/2 tsp. salt + 1 tsp vanilla + 4 c. diced rhubarb. Stir and pour over crust.
Bake for 35-45 minutes or until custard has set.
We woke up at 6:00 and looked out the front door. The cars were covered in a skim of snow and Wesley also claimed he could feel the flakes hitting his hand.
Our news feeds were filled with cautions and slippery road warnings. There were pictures of children, grumpy from bed and standing by nearly invisible piles. Other people bemoaning the lack of more.
And I love it. No matter how old, the promise of snow is so exciting. A snow day, the very best kind of day off from work.
I used to love the first snow fall in New Brunswick, and in Alabama it’s not different.
Snow means a clean slate, a new promise, a reason to smile. I’ll take what I can get.
I have a weekly Wednesday date with a friend to chat via Gmail while we work on writing projects.
All this to say – I should be writing something inspirational, when really I just want to stew about a name change.
You think it would be something simple like a trip to some friendly government branch. There’s a grandmother behind the counter with glasses and a national flag hanging behind her. You exchange pleasantries, recipes for peach pie, perhaps… sign your name and that’s it.
Instead, for the last 8 months I’ve been playing the adult version of If You Give a Mouse a Cookie. One thing effects another, which effects another, until I finally realize that for the next two years – the only thing that acknowledges me a Howell will be my library card.
And so tomorrow I head to the Social Security office for my fourth visit (not counting the times they weren’t open) and perhaps after that, a little jaunt to the DMV.
Until then, perhaps I’ll simply write my name as it suits my fancy. Mind your own business government offices!
Signed,
Olivia Grace Flewelling Howell Pearl Natalia McDonnelly III
Now that the weather is turning to finally match pictures of Thanksgiving pies, I find myself pulled outdoors again.
The sun becomes my friend and I pull up the blinds to welcome her.
We’ve unpacked our camp chairs from their summer hibernation in the car and they rotate from place to place on the patio. All our tramping to and fro introduces a nest of pine straw on the door mat, but we are content with the trade off.
For the first time in months, it feels like the wind can be friendly again. I ask, “Are you quite finished knocking your falling branches about?” The boughs nod and it’s in me to believe them.
I feel the urge to pot and repot my plants – one last hurrah before we close the doors. The peppers may not survive the weekend, Wesley says.
Some squirrels scold us in their hiding.
A southern weather apologist, I am not. The pros and cons would smother me in 90 degree Julys – a muggy mockery.
The only thing I’m learning to say with certainty, in fact, is the thing I’m learning to say in all things.
That this day is enough to be content. That this little joy is enough to be grateful for. And that His strength, is enough to carry me through.
Lickety split they grow up, turn out, pop off ridiculous words. And one of the best things about living far away, is the very feeling of coming home to all their dear faces.
Scribbles 