Lessons I learned.
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Take a journal.

Look for beauty and love.

Congratulations to Kasia and Travis! You're one lucky guy. 

I was also thrilled to spend the morning with Bekah soon-to-be Arnold on her wedding day. Your friends and family are so amazing. Thank you for the challenge and gift of capturing a few moments. Here are some of my favorite shots.

Like a lake, exist in many ways. 

The rain is here for a few days, and with it came a moment to pause, pick blueberries, bake, and spend time with family. I headed up to my parent's cabin in the woods, which is a 2.5 hour drive and completely removed from the pace of the city. It takes about 24 hours after I arrive, but then it happens: I sit on the front porch and am content to stare at the lake, passing the time without thought, except to notice the sun arch past the trees.

We've been hearing about the coast for years. Starting in Portland, we traveled up and down the 101, had a few adventures, ate incredible seafood, and landed in Seattle for an-always-great time with Laura and Shane. 

For the next several days, we drove up and down highway 101. We bought fresh almonds and cherries from a farmer in Florence. We drove, walked, and took in the beautiful west coast. 

Yachats
 This is one of my favorite memories from our trip. 
At the urging of a local, we found ourselves at this beautiful beach where
​we watched the waves come in for the better part of an hour.
Rising and falling scupltures of water exploded from the sea like fireworks. 

We got off the 101 for a bit and took Oregon's 131. The rural towns were small and the wilderness big.
Quiet and wild, in a way, like home. 

Cape Mears
The lighthouse was built in 1889 and sits 217 feet above the Pacific but is only 38 feet tall iteself.
 The Fresnel lens was shipped from Paris, hoisted up the 20 story cliff, and magnified five tiny flames that could be seen 21 nautical miles away. The lighthouse guided mariners for three generations.
 I couldn't stop taking pictures.

On our way to Astoria, we passed by Tillamook to get some cheese. Then, it was onward to my favorite town of our trip. Astoria sits at the mouth of the Columbia river. The Maritime Museum gave us a glimpse at the epic feats of the earliest mariners to brave the Columbia River Bar.

I found myself sitting in this window seat more than once looking up marine traffic that was passing us by. Thinking of the people who canned fish in this very building 100 years ago.

We walked around town, ate great food, and flew through the air for over a mile of zip lining; it was all a total blast. 

​We will be back, Astoria. 

There were 19 courses, and I am rendered a bit speechless, even in reflection. Here, I'll let the pictures do more than I could say. The menu is below.

The tendrils of winter kiss and crawl to form illuminated manuscripts on stone.
These elaborate designs are surely gone by now, but I saw them and held them and bring them back to you.

The pageantry of this season urges stillness like nothing else. There is a rhythm, and it goes like this: First, the sound of rain splashes broadly on surrendering trees, and then (in mid-morning) the water droplets form rock garden patterns in the bowled leaves that have come to rest on the deck—just briefly in this silence--before the chimes signal the winds.

There are those days that seem to take form from pure kinetic energy. The work you do, the plans you lay bring into motion a day, whole in rejuvenation.

The house has never been more beautiful, and just days before the wedding a cadre of us were focused on getting the details just right. That meant setting the stage, delivering the beer, prepping the mac and cheese, tomato soup, wedding cake, and caesar dressing. The day before, Laura and Erin climbed the saddle and collected boutineer and boquet flowers. The trip was muddy but the result was the best beauty Alaska has to offer. 

The rehearsal was beautiful and just a few decisions had to be coordinated before the big day. When we returned, we had an amazing lasagna and finished prepping that last of the beef ribs and caesar salad.

With three generations in the house, it was impossible not to make the connection that we are right in the middle. Just 30 years ago, our parents and aunts and uncles were right where we are now, and we are just 30 years from helping Olive and her siblings and cousins celebrate their big day. It's an obvious realization, but one that I haven't really sat with before. It makes me thankful, quiet, and buzz with warmth. 

Here we are. . .Game day. . .5 years in the making. 
Everyone was calm, happy, and ready. The food came out without a glitch, the ceremony was sweet like honey, and the party lasted late late into the night. What a day. 

Today I'm bringing Jessie a home-cooked meal (Vegetable Beef Soup) for us to enjoy after she gets off of work. At 9:30 this morning, I went down to Mike's Meats and got eight pounds of beef bones. Jose quartered them for me to make it easier to handle, roast, cook, and extract the delicious nutrients from. You can see what I did with all those bones here. This post is about friendship, three friendships. While cooking this soup for Jessie, I couldn't resist the poetry of seeing an ancient recipe (tell me what's older than meat and vegetable soup) as a symbol of our very long journey as friends. 

In those early days we would write letters back and forth to each other (sending them in the mail). They read with the hilarity and sometimes, heavy drama of growing up, and I'm glad that I still have a few. 

Just like a good home-made meal, the more time and love you put into a thing, the richer and more nutrituous it becomes. 
We are some damn lucky women to have each other, have this history.

And now, Laura, you're getting married to your best friend. 

Thank you, Paul. 

On the last day of school, we got an opportunity to pick up some Copper River King Salmon from the dock in Whittier. Jessie and Adam drove down Friday night and brought back some serious fish for family and friends. Adam cleaned and filleted the kings in our backyard until almost 2am. Eventually we were working by the light of the furtive sun, and so it follows that we kept company in the land of the midnight salmon. We would wait until the afternoon to eat our King Salmon three ways. 

Brooding chickens are upon us. The girls are doing some hard time behind bars. 

These girls have been in their laying boxes for much of the week. Our egg production has gone from 5-6 a day to half that. Yesterday we attempted "the chicken shuffle" as a remedy. I was outside all day doing some spring cleaning and when a non-broody hen approached the egg box, I let her in and shooed off the broody girls. This worked for a time, but required constant attention. So this morning at 6am, Adam and I greeted the 29 degree pale-sunshine air with a plan, of sorts. After reading several other blogs about how to deal with this problem (Our go-to is the Chicken Chick, who has a fantastic blog), we decided to save the $300 that a rabbit hutch would cost and dug around in our shed to see what we could piece together. We found a dog kennel from when Wilson was a pup, some spare wood, and spare hardware cloth. 

Apparently, these brooding girls need to be eased out from their hormonal trance by separating them from the others and providing a boring, cool, light, and drafty. . . . what's the word. . . .prison. Thus, they are sentenced to a maximum security life for the next week or so until they stop growling. That's right, growling. They have gone from my sweet, sweetie-pie girls to nasty, growling, edgy crazies who have the single focus of hatching an egg. 

I saw the first bursts of spring hues in the Arizona desert this March. Arizonians tell me that this is nothing compared to the rich palette of colors that will paint the desert floor in April and May. But, I was astonished to watch the desert transform before my eyes from a seemingly monochromatic moonscape to a rich and dramatic beauty. This trip restored me in many, many ways. Thanks, Mom & Dad!

I liked playing with the light and crystal formations of these ice balloons. This was way back near the winter solstice. 

Ah. We have arrived at the best season. The Seuss like nature of this Fireweed makes me happy. The reaches of cotton and peddles curve around the cold air like fireworks in the July sky, but here I find you against the low-ground foliage, more permanent than the imitation, but still so ephemeral that I should not breathe. 

Well someone else in the neighborhood does. At sunset, we heard another Conch symphony that led into what I can only describe as a Conch Off. We aren't proud. 

In the last moments of fall we savored the final crunches of our CSA from Arctic Organics. 
Here we have a Butternut Squash Soup and Salad. 
Thank you, Erika, for the homemade napkins.