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.
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.