People are usually talking about speeding through small towns when they say it, but I think it goes for life as well. I’ve been working so much this last six weeks that I am continually surprised by the passage of time. What, it’s May? Wait, it’s almost Memorial Day? When did that happen?
When did the azaleas in our yard bloom in a riot of color and joy?
On our first trip out of the neighborhood after liberating the car from the snowpacked driveway on Saturday, Sasso and I ventured out to Carolina North Forest for a brisk and slippery morning
We got somewhere between 4.5 and 6 inches of snow on Wednesday night. Until Thursday morning, the snow this winter has been like the sugar on mini-wheats–a pretty coating adding a certain glamour to a fundamentally recognizable breakfast cereal.
On Thursday morning I woke up in a whole different world.
We didn’t used to have an archway at the end of our driveway. For that matter, we used to have a driveway.
A friend of mine–who lives here, but isn’t from here (obviously)–posted on Facebook this morning:
My impersonation of most of North Carolina right now: “Winter is lasting for TWO weeks this year! George R. R. Martin was right! I wish it was humid and sweaty and terrible like it always is!” I love you nutty people, even if I don’t understand you.
On Saturday it felt like spring and the camellias in our jungle were blooming.
And I was starting to feel pressure to get our garden up and running Continue reading
And I do mean that literally: our actual backyard, not Chapel Hill or North Carolina or North America or Planet Earth or any other metaphorical backyard.
January was a busy month–busy with work and traveling to DC for work, and also busy with combating a cold followed by a sinus infection followed by the desire to hibernate for the rest of the winter (not that it’s been anything really like “winter” here this year). So I haven’t had any time to travel.
But not all adventures start when you leave your own driveway. And our yard is an adventure in itself. It’s the kind of place a child, or an adult who remembers being a child, or a hound, can find nooks and crannies and leafy forts to hide in while getting lost in dreams . . . and quite possibly getting physically lost too.
Here’s a pretty view from our driveway on a sunny day:
The Preservation Society of Chapel Hill held its annual holiday tour of historic houses on Saturday. It was a drizzly gray day, perfect for hiding inside gorgeous, beautifully renovated historic houses decorated by artists and dolled up for the holidays. Continue reading