This is my paradise. Where's yours?
After the summer tragedy of 2008, this past season’s return to paradise was truly… sublime. I ran down to the beach in my jeans and sneakers and collapsed at the shear majesty of the landscape – every shimmering blue bay and wooded point having its own private history of Felsian adventure. I lay on my back with my arms spread wide, scooping up handfuls of ground quartz and granite and letting their weight pin me to the hot sand. For the first time in my life, I recognized, and was overwhelmed by, the true ‘power of place’. I wept, as honestly as I ever have, as the grains trickled through my outstretched fingers.
Agatha Christie and Habitat Pea Soup on the porch
Upstairs, in the cottage my grandparents built with their own hands, I indulged in one of my most ancient and sacred rituals: Agatha Christie and Habitat Pea Soup on the porch. I’m tearing up again looking at this photograph – even though, to the untrained eye, it’s just a paperback and some soup! Treasure your rituals, treasure your places, but most of all, treasure the homes they create.
Actually, that soup looks delicious 🙂 As is Agatha Christie (which title is it?)
TW
Mmmmmm… Death on the Nile (oops, the mmm was for the soup, not the death bit lol)
[…] was the family’s first without our dear Matriarch and Patriarch. While the gift of the Quebec cottage they built with their own hands will stay with the family (thank heavens!), their home, with all its comforting smells, sounds, […]