Good morning!

It’s Thursday, October has arrived, and someone else has too.

The moose is back!

Not only that, but our moose appears to have a soft spot for the old dirt road and the paths we maintain for our own enjoyment. Clearly our visitor is a moose of distinction.

My brother first encountered our friend while taking his meditative morning stroll down the road. Meditative state thus interrupted, he beat a polite but hasty retreat.

Our friend then continued her merry way down the road until she reached the clearing for our field—at which point she chose, as we often do, to veer onto the quieter, narrow path that runs over the bluff and down to the beach.

Apparently she spent the next several hours wandering back and forth and up and across to the swamp and back to the field, tracing our footsteps and enjoying herself immensely.

Now it’s up to us to decide whether we’re brave enough to follow in her footsteps.

“The art of life lies in a constant readjustment to our surrounding.”

—Kakuzo Okakura

Onwards,

Clara

PS—If you need help finding her in the photo, look between the trees along the right side of the horizon.

Good morning!

It’s Wednesday, it’s the last day of September, and hope springs eternal in our pepper patch.

The original pepper patch was doing so abysmally that my beloved suggested we dig up the plants, toss them on the compost pile, and try again next year. I insisted we do no such thing, especially since the plants had been procured on my birthday.

Instead, they were dug up, brought to the house, and jumbled into two huge pots that basked in the sunshine for the rest of the summer. To my delight, they survived and flourished.

And now, with cooler nights and the first frost closing in, all five plants have finally decided to flower and bear fruit with abandon.

It’s always this way in Maine. But as long as they keep going, I’ll cheer them on.

“All powers have two sides, the power to create and the power to destroy. We must recognize them both, but invest our gifts on the side of creation.”

—Robin Wall Kimmerer

Onwards,

Clara

Good morning!

It’s Tuesday. Whenever we have a big wind, we’ll find surprises in the yard. Sometimes it’ll be a beer can or candy wrapper or chip bag. But after yesterday’s storm, I spotted a soccer ball lodged in the slope between our compost pile and the old cellar hole we affectionately call “the ruins.”

Traipsing over to claim my prize, I discovered that this wasn’t a soccer ball at all. It was the biggest mushroom I’d ever seen—a living, breathing ball as big as my hand with all the fingers outstretched. Behind it lurked a smaller sibling.

We stared at each other for quite a while before I gave our visitor a tentative poke with my finger. Its surface felt cool, damp, and spongy, like a cross between a marshmallow and what I imagine the skin of a whale would feel like.

I apologized for being so nosy, and my visitor said not to worry—it hadn’t ever felt the skin of a human, so we were even.

“Attend to mushrooms and all other things will answer up.”

—A.R. Ammons

Onwards,

Clara

Good morning!

It’s Monday. And while we were off sunning ourselves in the desert, autumn slipped in and began changing the leaves.

A view that was green just days ago has become undeniably, joyfully, riotously dabbed with yellows and oranges and reds that will only grow more intense in the coming days—especially now that October waits in the wings.

“Turn, turn, my wheel! All things must change
To something new, to something strange;
Nothing that is can pause or stay;
The moon will wax, the moon will wane,
The mist and cloud will turn to rain,
The rain to mist and cloud again,
To-morrow be to-day.”

—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Onwards,

Clara

It’s Sunday, and we made it home ahead of the storm, which seems to have stalled south of us. In fact, this particular nor’easter might not reach us at all.

But then again, it still could.

With Mother Nature, you never know.

So we’ll do the only thing we can. We’ll stand here and take in the calm before whatever comes next.

“All human wisdom is contained in these two words: ‘Wait and hope.’”

—Alexandre Dumas

Onwards,

Clara

PS—If you’ve been in the eye of the storm, I hope you’re now high and dry and safe.

Good morning!

It’s Saturday. We’ve said our goodbyes and handed over our car key and our bags and walked through beeping machines and eventually stepped into a giant metal tube.

The doors have been shut, announcements made, seatbelts secured, and now we get to savor one last look at a view etched into my adolescence before the engines roar and we’re up, up, and away—racing a nor’easter back home and to the present.

“The distinction between past, present and future is only a stubbornly persistent illusion.”

—Albert Einstein

Onwards,

Clara

Hello, my dearest Respiteers!

Tis Friday, and I’ve had to use the automatic door opener for our imaginary pavilion today. Someone (namely me) had the bright idea to book an itinerary that put us on a …

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Good morning!

It’s Friday, and our time in Tucson is already drawing to a close. Over the past week I’ve successfully managed to anchor every loose stitch and close every hole in my mother’s much-beloved, moth-devoured sweater. I found sock yarn to make thick elbow patches that can double as miniature cushions, because even elbows like extra padding, right?

Only after I washed and aired and fluffed and further mended the sweater did I finally feel ready to hand it back to my mother, along with a 20,000-mile guarantee. Both the sweater and its wearer are now ready for their next steps back out into the world.

“The fabric of existence weaves itself whole.”

—Charles Ives

Respiteers, shall we gather in our imaginary pavilion to discuss the magic of mending and fixing things? As always, check your inbox right before the hour.

Onwards,

Clara

Good morning!

It’s Thursday, and the locals continue to swing by and introduce themselves. These are all regulars at the birdfeeder cafés (yes, plural) that my mother operates with or without proper zoning and licensing and health inspections from a corner of her back yard.

They are the most agreeable customers, perhaps aided by the fact that they get to dine on a far more elevated blend of seeds and nuts and berries than our birds do back in Maine.

All day long, we get to watch them flitter and chatter and swoop and peck and nibble and flutter and balance on the tippy tops of these ocotillo branches as if it were the most natural thing in the world—which for them, of course, it is.

“To be engrossed by something outside ourselves is a powerful antidote for the rational mind…”

—Anne Lamott

Onwards we go,

Clara

Good morning!

It’s Wednesday. One of my fundamental rules while traveling is to try and mingle with locals as much as possible.

Usually this requires going out into the world—but yesterday I didn’t even need to do that. Meet my new friend. His name is Craig, he enjoyed a nibble here and there, and then continued on his merry way.

“I like friends who have independent minds because they tend to make you see problems from all angles.”

—Nelson Mandela

In this particular case, our new friend helped us see that the gate had been left open.

Onwards,

Clara

Good morning!

It’s Tuesday. Having sufficiently recovered from yesterday’s dance party, we now get to turn our attention to the sun.

While it normally swings above and below and to and fro, today it will sit directly above the equator before slipping us all into a new season.

Those in the southern hemisphere now cheer the arrival of spring. And in the northern hemisphere, we tilt our gaze subtly but undeniably towards autumn.

“I trust in nature for the stable laws of beauty and utility. Spring shall plant and autumn garner to the end of time.”

—Robert Browning

Ever onwards,

Clara

It’s Monday, and not just any Monday. Today is September 21st. If you’ve been here for a while, you already know about today’s ritual. If not, allow me to bring you into the joyful fold.

Every year on this exact day, we and many others around the world dance along to one very specific song.

So limber up, get out of your chair, crank up the volume, and let’s do this!

“They dined on mince, and slices of quince,
Which they ate with a runcible spoon;
And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,
They danced by the light of the moon,
The moon,
The moon,
They danced by the light of the moon.”

―Edward Lear

Onwards,

Clara

It’s Sunday. And just because we’re in Arizona doesn’t mean we can’t spend a minute by the water today.

Sure, it’s not a bay, lake, or pond. It has no tides, nor does it hold fish or boats or an elusive whale.

But it splashes and sparkles and provides a most welcoming source of relaxation and refreshment. And, while it was made by and for humans, it also has a special place for small creatures to perch, splash, sip, and refresh in relative safety.

Indeed, it’s the perfect place for us to be this morning.

“Yes, as every one knows, meditation and water are wedded forever.”

—Herman Melville

Onwards,

Clara

Good morning!

It’s Saturday, and since we’re here to help my mother mend, it seemed only appropriate to bring my lucky needle and some darning thread and facilitate another kind of mending too.

The current patient is a much-loved cashmere sweater my mother reluctantly handed over after I noticed all the moth holes. She did this more than a year ago, and, alas, I failed to darn a single stitch. Worse yet (and plug your ears if you’re squeamish), more moths found it.

Some would call the state of the sweater dire, I call it an opportunity. And so, stitch by stitch and day by day, we will take this time to make everything whole again.

“It is never too late to mend. It is never too late to mend.”

—Ralph Waldo Emerson

Onwards,

Clara

Hello, my dear Respiteers!

Tis Friday, and our imaginary pavilion has taken on a decidedly southwestern feel today. The doors are open, the fountain is making splishy-splash sounds, and there are load…

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Good morning!

It’s Friday, and we have arrived in Arizona.

The air is warm, the birds are different, the sky is full of color, and the clouds have personalities all their own—including this one, which looks like a giant bird in flight.

I grew up here, so none of this is new. But it is very welcome.

“What makes the desert beautiful,” said the little prince, “is that somewhere it hides a well.”

—Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

Respiteers, shall we lie on the grass and gaze up at the sky together this afternoon? As always, check your inbox right before 2pm EDT for the magic link.

Onwards,

Clara

Good morning!

It’s Thursday. We’ve been having gorgeous sunsets lately, as if Mother Nature wanted to compensate us for the shortening amount of daylight. Having stacked the wood and emptied the garden beds and canned the peaches and tomatoes and scheduled the annual boiler cleaning, I can already feel myself preparing to hibernate.

But we won’t do that just yet. We have one brief migration to make. We’re headed to a place with even more beautiful sunsets than ours, to keep my mother company while she recovers from surgery.

As always, I’ve saved you a seat beside me—so pack a hat and some sunscreen and let’s get going.

“Softly the evening came. The sun from the western horizon
Like a magician extended his golden wand o’er the landscape;
Twinkling vapors arose; and sky and water and forest
Seemed all on fire at the touch, and melted and mingled together.”

—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Onwards,

Clara

Good morning!

It’s Wednesday, and our old postmistress kept her promise. Not only did she come back to harvest the rosehips as soon as they were ripe, but she returned again to present us with this radiant jar of rosehip jelly.

Have you ever seen a more glorious color? It’s as if someone managed to capture the soul of a flower in sweet, spreadable form. Which might be why, after giving us this jar, our friend pulled out an empty bag and went back to the bushes for another batch of hips.

“The rose distils a healing balm
The beating pulse of pain to calm.”

—Anacreon, translated by Thomas Moore

Onwards,

Clara

Good morning!

It’s Tuesday. The onions came out of the soil three and a half weeks ago, and I’ve been babying them ever since. This is definitely one of our smaller harvests, but I’m not holding it against my onions. It was a rough garden year.

For the first week or so, I let them stay on their bed so they could sun themselves and grow accustomed to the idea of no longer being rooted. Then I loaded them into the wheelbarrow and trundled them up to the barn.

At this point they take on the life of a flock of pampered chickens. In the morning, weather permitting, I open the door and they all head outside to bask in the sun. If it’s rainy, they’ll huddle in the doorway and try to stay dry.

And at the end of the day, they all come back inside for a good night’s sleep.

Technically the curing process only takes two to four weeks…but what’s the rush?

“Nothing valuable can be lost by taking time.”

—Abraham Lincoln

Onwards,

Clara

Good morning!

It’s Monday, and it’s high time for a turkey update. I’m happy to report they’ve continued their visits, sometimes skipping a day or two but always coming back.

It’s possible that we lost one or two babes to the way of all things in nature—but those who remain are getting bigger and worldlier by the day.

They always appear suddenly, skittering excitedly to the feeder as if they were discovering it for the first time. Everyone tucks in while the adults keep their heads up and eyes open for danger.

And then, following a signal I still can’t detect, the adults will promptly turn and saunter down the path to the lower garden. Without protest or delay, the young ones abandon their meal and follow behind.

“Good manners are made up of petty sacrifices.”

—Ralph Waldo Emerson

Onwards,

Clara