Hey wild one,
June has always felt like a threshold to me. The garden begins to wake up in earnest. Roses open. Fireflies return. The days stretch long enough that you forget to look at the clock.
Lately I've found myself paying attention to things becoming.
Not blooming, but becoming. There is a difference.
A flower blooms all at once, loud and impossible to miss. Becoming is quieter. It happens underground, beneath the surface, long before anyone notices.
Perhaps that's why I've been drawn outside so much lately. Photographing roses. Watching ferns unfurl. Sitting in the evening air a little longer than usual. Maybe I'm learning something from them.
In the kitchen, summer has arrived in full force. Strawberries are piling up on counters, peaches are beginning to appear, and I've been gathering recipes that taste like long evenings and sun-warmed gardens.
On my nightstand, I'm reading Maeve Fly and it's pulled me straight into a reading binge. If you've read anything lately that completely consumed you, hit reply and tell me about it.
And around the house, I've been slowly transforming spaces one project at a time. Paint, old furniture, collected treasures, and the sort of changes that make a house feel more like your own.
This season, I want this space to be more than recipes. There will always be food here. Seasonal cooking is still one of the ways I connect with the world around me.
But there will also be books, gardens, photographs, travel, old traditions, beautiful places, and the quiet things that make life feel rich.
Thank you for being here while I figure out exactly what this next season looks like. I have a feeling it's going to be a good one.
