My calendar tells me it’s August 27th. Twelve years ago, Michael and I drove a U-Haul up our driveway to come home at last. We had been investing time and attention on this patch of land for 18 years prior to that, starting by commuting from St. Paul, with an 8-year detour to Maine. So I suppose this is the 30 year anniversary of this project. No. We aren’t done yet. Cash flow and other commitments have made finishing the actual house a VERY long-term project.

This is what the house looked like when we arrived 12 years ago.

This is the current view from the same spot. The trees elicit a “my, how you’ve grown” response from us. The house’s footprint doubled. The basement is about 5 times as big. But because we use all of this space, intensely at times, it doesn’t seem as large.

This last photo was taken at a funeral for the last aunt standing from Michael’s family. Bev was always a hoot; she would have appreciated a good wrestling match. In some ways our world grows smaller, as those who nurtured us take their leave.

It is only right that we support our daughters, their husbands, and all those lovely grands. We appreciate their putting up with our foibles.

Like the fact that “making” food for us involves more than cooking. Gardens. Coops. Hunting. Gathering. Our lives governed by the seasons; repeat digging, shoveling, watering, canning, chopping, freezing. We hope to share a love of this place that has absorbed so much of our energy and attention. Or perhaps just love. That most of all. 12 years or 30, we are satisfied, if not sated.