weekend lookback, august 25

Row 1: Gathering from Scratch, Sunset, Fairylight Supper; Row 2: Breakfast by Vermeer, Farmhouse Window, Farm Life

So I snuck away this weekend. Let me first say that leaving Neel and Cal home alone during the 12-day Simpsons marathon on FX might have been my best parenting decision EVER. When I got home yesterday afternoon, they hugged me by patting me on the back vaguely, before their eyes glassily veered TV-ward again. So, win-win?

There were no back-to-back-to-back Simpson's episodes for me. There was instead a 300 year-old farmhouse, the oldest stone farmhouse in the Shenandoah Valley. There were the rolling hills of West Virginia. There were lab puppies! (Swoon.) (I told them as I was leaving not to count heads. There might be a puppy coming home with me.) (There wasn't.) There were horses and sheep and pigs and cows and goats and chickens and parrots and peacocks who flew onto the roof each night at twilight. All of that was pretty amazing.

The food was pretty amazing too. I don't want to say too much today because there are so many photos to download, but each meal was so beautifully presented and served on stunningly laid tables. One of the hosts, Rebecca Gallup, from A Daily Something, is a prop stylist, and I could have spent the entire weekend with her just learning how she makes each decision she makes. Beth Kirby of local milk is a recipe developer, stylist and food photographer, and she handled that end in addition to keeping us fed. The food, and just being fed? That part alone for someone who does the feeding in the family, well, that was pretty special.

It's possible that I'm not the best workshop attendee. Too introverted, perhaps. Although I met so many wonderful women and enjoyed every moment with them, it's not the thing I'm best at. And let's face it. I'm not so great at the practical part of learning things either. Not great at taking advantage of having the experts on hand to guide me. I can ask questions and pick brains, but when it comes time to try stuff out and get help, I freeze up a little. It's also possible that I'm just a crappy stylist and always will be and no amount of workshops is gonna change that.

Don't get me wrong, simply being there and soaking up every moment was a really, really good thing. And some of the women there unfolded like flowers, and that was a beautiful thing to see. If I wanted to come home having fallen in love with styling, it's really okay that I didn't. I thought for the longest time that it was that I just didn't know enough, and once I knew more, I'd be okay. It might be that it's just not a good fit for me. Instead, I came home with an appreciation for gathering around the table and tending to my family with food. That sense has been sorely missing since I've been ill this summer. I came home more in love with my little Fuji than ever. I came home having made some really lovely friends among some really talented women.

I have more to tell you, all the lovely details of how well tended to we were all weekend, and all the beauty of the farm we stayed on, but you know what? My kid starts 9th Grade today, and that's the crazytown most important thing. Another school year begins, and I think I hear his alarm. Cinnamon rolls are on the menu, so it's a good thing I'm feeling rejuvenated.

another view {life}

How many pictures can I take of the same of the same view? More than this, I promise. I took you to our beach last week, and it's past time I get us back around the world and share some shots from our trip to Greece and Italy back in June.

The resort where we stayed was near Olympia, right on the Ionian Sea. I have some pictures of the resort, and some funny stories about it too, that I'll share with you soon, but first I want to show you this glorious water.

We had some waves the first day, but they were little, even by the standards of what we refer to our Atlantic Ocean: Lake Virginia Beach. After that, placid skies and placid seas. Bracing water. I'm not sure if it was the time of year or the weather pattern that met us there, but the skies were soft, almost hazy, every day, even with low humidity. We could just make out mountains rising from the water, far in the distance, and occasionally a cruise ship would hulk slowly off shore.

The water changed color daily and was always crystal clear. Shallow and buoyant beyond belief, we marveled at how easily we floated and how far down we saw our wiggling toes.

Cal forcefully took on the water every chance he could. He kayaked every day. He swam, he dove. I met him in the water, moving more slowly, but so grateful for each buoyant float. I'm a floater more than a diver, I suppose.

Every day I walked the curve of land that hugged our hotel. Turn left, you hit the resort. Rows of white umbrellas waiting for families to take cover. Turn right and almost immediately you're in rural, coastal Greece. Fishing families with ragged homes perched along the shore. Tarp covered patios, barking dogs. These are no coastal hideaways. Fancy and designed for vacationers. These are the homes of working men and women. Scrappy and held together with twine and wire.

I always turned right when I went to walk.

The day after we learned that Violet died, I took this walk, my feet sinking into cool sand, the calm sea a gentle slap against the shore. It was glassy, smooth and serene, balm to my breaking heart. I walked all the way to that tiny cove, where boats bobbed and one lone swimmer broke the surface with a steady stroke. If I ever needed a message that the sea and the sand starts to heal me, this walk was it. I was still heartbroken, my emotions were still raw, but with this water alongside me, I was walking on.