1. one line a day: the first month

    i’m keeping a daily one-line journal. here are some highlights from the first month.

    "bought my truck today. drove down the taconic with a full moon and bruce springsteen to light the way. five deer stared at us from the side of the road, unimpressed."

    "toots unearthed another bone from the woods this morning."

    "tonight a barred owl hooted her head off under breathy stars. yesterday, we were greeted by a turkey and a handful of yellow bellied flycatchers."

    "the morning commutes have been so beautiful, lambent with rain and the slant of early day sun on autumn leaves. on our route, we pass families waiting for the bus, including a harried mother with her brood and a father and son with matching smiles.”

     
  2. (very) late blooming strawberry

     
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  4. greg and i served pies (and donuts) at our wedding one year ago, and this october 5 i decided to initiate a tradition of baking a pie for our anniversary.

    blueberry remains a particular favorite of both of ours, even moreso after we dragged a canoe through countless blueberry bushes during our canadian excursion this past summer. we ate so many that the taste of blueberries will forever take me back to that trip, to hair dripping from a jump in the lake, and hiding from thunderstorms and mosquitoes in our tent, and being on a big adventure as husband and wife. 

    for dinner tonight, i had four day old anniversary pie with vanilla ice cream and a glass of wine, and decided to spread the love and share the recipe. this pie will satisfy people who prefer a reserved level of sweetness. i combined two recipes with hefty amounts of lemon, and then added even more. i also used underripe blueberries (it was after all back in july that greg and i were picking them right off the bush), so this pie edges toward tart territory, which i suppose savors of the kind of marriage i hope we’ll always have—sweet, but with a bite.

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  5. first stop on the morning commute: garrison train station.

    little clouds breathed across the shoreline this morning.

     
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  7. right before moving, i worried that the feeling of home wouldn’t come to me, not for a while anyway. the morning of our walkthrough, just before signing papers and checks, i had a moment of… not panic by any means, not regret, but unease. the house was empty save cobwebs and faded carpeting. the rooms seemed smaller than i had remembered, the windows dirtier. a dead centipede accented an overhead light above the stairs, and a dumpster of the previous owners’ unloved or unlucky detritus hogged the front yard.  

    the first few days have been a blitz of tearing through boxes to find wool socks, eating deli sandwiches and breaking garage doors. but slipped in between all this have been much appreciated, brief autumnal respites. a barred owl welcomed us the second night, a turkey yelled at us the following morning, and we’ve started to learn the winding roads dotted with the bronze and rust and gold of oak and ash and beech leaves.

    my misgivings were wiped away the first day the house officially became ours. greg picked me up from the train station, drove us through a spotlit countryside, and i stepped into our driveway under breathy stars. when i saw the empty rooms now occupied by his banjo and our over-loved sofa, relief rushed through me.

    i still cleaned the overhead light the next day. 

     
  8. packing day. movers came at 9am and boxed up our lives in under four hours. 

    greg and i spent all but nine months of our relationship in this apartment, which me moved into october 2011. despite that history here, i wasn’t feeling particularly sentimental until toots’ first toy was uncovered behind the sofa. she pounced on it the second they were reunited, and i enjoyed a flashback to her as a puppy, barely big enough to play fetch with her knitted octopus—which i bought on etsy during my first week working there.

    greg and i settled in and made a home here so quickly. it boggles me to look back on it, to see that our houseplants have grown tall and are now leaning against each other in boxes, ready for the big move. more than sentimental, i’m excited to build up our new home, and i’m hoping to capture that story on this blog, so i can remember some of those moments along the way that would otherwise potentially wind up behind the couch.

    see you in putnam valley.