give it another try.

That's right. I'm giving National Novel Writing Month another try this year. After the epic fail of last year, I can hardly do worse, but instead of making my goal to finish 50,000 words, it will be simply to write as often as I can. If I make it to 50,000 words, awesome, if not--my time will not have been wasted. I just need to get back into the habit again.

Thanks to Ellar for giving me this much needed quote:

"Forgiveness. The ability to forgive oneself. Stop here for a few breaths and think

about this, because it is the key to making art and very possibly the key to finding

any semblance of happiness in life. Every time I have set out to translate the book (or

story, or hopelessly long essay) that exists in such brilliant detail on the big screen

of my limbic system onto a piece of paper (which, let's face it, was once a towering

tree crowned with leaves and a home to birds), I grieve for my own lack of talent and

intelligence. Every. Single. Time. Were I smarter, more gifted, I could pin down a closer

facsimile of the wonders I see. I believe that, more than anything else, this grief of

constantly having to face down our own inadequacies is what keeps people from being

writers. Forgiveness, therefore, is key. I can't write the book I want to write, but I can

and will write the book I am capable of writing. Again and again throughout the course

of my life I will forgive myself."

      --Anne Patchett

Plenty.

My alarm went off when the morning was still darkly cloaked with night, and for a moment I wondered why it had gone off before I remembered why I had specifically set it last night. I gently nudged the sleeping form beside me, and reminded him that he was to make coffee for the morning.
    "Did your alarm already go off?" He asked groggily.
    "Briefly, it was on vibrate, but it's time."
He gave a deep sigh and then heaved his tired body from the bed before I managed to pull mine from under the warm covers. Regardless of how frequently I wake up before him, I always have a hard time leaving the comfort of the bed when he is still in it.
But this morning had an exciting reason to be awake so early, and we both pulled ourselves from our sleepy reverie.
I pulled on jeans, a tee shirt, my blue flannel button-up, a black puffy vest, and pulled my hair out of my face with a quick sweep of the curls into a messy ponytail. The coffee wafted through the house, and I sighed knowing I couldn't have a cup. I know women do it all the time, but with your first--I hear--you're always more cautious about taking risks.
Jeremy had gotten ready and we met in the kitchen ready to leave.
    "What time is the sun supposed to rise this morning? It's still really dark out there?"
7:42AM was the answer, so we had a little time before we had to leave and I enjoyed a bowl of cereal as Jeremy let his coffee cool. After a few minutes, coffee was poured into a travel mug, my chunky grey scarf was grabbed, and Cael excitedly wagged his tail as informed that he was going to accompany us on a ride.
Vestiges of the autumn sun were already apparent in a glowing grey-gold over the tops of the trees and the surrounding mountains as we pulled out of our driveway. The morning was crisp and silent as we drove west.
We made the northward turn onto the Blue Ridge Parkway, and my heart swelled in my chest as we drove past the autumn-hued birches, maples, and oaks. Burnished golds, vibrant reds, and sweet oranges greeted us in the still grey morning--their colors muted in the non-light but not subdued as we drove toward Mt. Mitchell. The suns presence was ever-growing as we made twists and turns round the mountains, catching glimpses of rich valleys and long-range views of rolling peaks as the colors slowly began to illuminate around us.
We drove past a few of the lower overlooks as 7:42AM crept closer, and the sun crept nearer to the tops of the mountains. We came to a stop at an overlook with a wide vista facing southeast and watched the sea of mountains beyond us slowly and gently receive the morning light upon their slopes and seep into their valleys. I took photo after photo as Jeremy and I both reveled in the beauty of the sunrise and the illuminated colors of autumn in the Blue Ridge Mountains. The glory of God is undoubtedly evident in these things, and my heart can't help but rejoice in it.
It was surprisingly cold that high on the mountain, and we didn't dress as warmly as we should have. With cold hands and full hearts we got back in the car. We had some time before we had to be back, and so we kept driving north through trees now fully ablaze with autumn's morning sun. We passed patches of the woods were fully and completely golden, and as the sun played through the branches both of us were reminded of Tolkien's description of the golden wood of Lothlorien--and we drove through our own version of the Misty Mountains.

We eventually had to turn around and make our way back home, but I always feel like I leave a little piece of myself up there this time of year. Autumn is a season for harvest, a season of plenty--and each autumn I am struck with just how I have been blessed with such plenty, such fullness, such life. Especially this year as I carry a tiny life within me. I will teach this child to love and appreciate the rich fullness of autumn in these mountains, and I look forward to many more autumn sunrise drives with my dear heart, Jeremy.
   

Many-hued, sun burnished mountains.

Our own Golden Wood, Lothlorien.

I'm your Huckleberry.

Well, whether I'm ready or not this baby sure is growing. I still haven't felt the little huckleberry moving around yet, but if our ultrasound a few weeks ago is any indication, he/she is moving and wiggling all the time.
We had an wonderful day yesterday apple picking at an orchard just past Hendersonville yesterday with some friends. It was a gorgeous, misty autumn day and the orchards still bore beautiful fruit--though we had to walk a little further to get to it. We picked Arkansas Black apples, Pink Lady apples, Granny Smith, Blushing Gold, and probably a few more I can't remember. But it was lovely being able to pick our own bushel of apples, and enjoying the company of our friends, Peter and Allie Marie (they're nearly newly weds, getting married in April--just before the baby comes actually). We also enjoyed the freshly made Apple Cider Doughnuts--seriously, they were incredible. We bought a half-dozen and four were gone before we realized what had happened. I actually just now finished off my first mug of fresh-pressed cider that we bought yesterday too--also seriously delicious. We ended up buying eighteen and a half pounds of apples... I suppose apple sauce, apple butter, and apple pies are in my near future. But if you know me at all, you know what a delightful prospect that is for me--I LOVE apples. I was seriously made for this season--I love everything about autumn.

Arkansas Black Apples

Our comrades in apple-picking, Peter and Allie Marie.

Our 18.5 pound bushel of apples, and my strong man. :) I am also very excited about those apples.

While we were at the orchard, I remembered that Huck (current nickname for the wee one) is about the size of an apple this week--I'm fifteen weeks along today. So I decided to take advantage of the photo op, and get some obligatory bump photos.

joy in uncertainty.

Some things are hard to put into words, even for one that feels like she always has something to say--which, honestly, may or may not be me on any given day. But this, this is something that I have prayed for and wanted for a long time, and now, now that it has really happened--I feel utterly unprepared and unready. Yet, at the same time I feel elated in a way that I have never experienced, I am excited about what the future brings. But every bit of excitement and anticipation I feel is tinged with fear and uncertainty. I do hope that fear abates, and my uncertainties are calmed for I dearly want to be fully and exceptionally joyful about being pregnant. Dont get me wrong--I feel joy, and I am so happy that we have this blessing in our lives. But I am admittedly freaking out a little bit. I hear that's normal though.

Now that I've gotten that bit out of the way, pregnancy really hasn't treated me that badly so far. That's not to say it has been easy, but I've heard horror stories of women who were on their backs sick as a dog for the whole of the nine months, unable to have any kind of normalcy for the entire pregnancy. I realize normalcy might be a relative term when it comes to pregnancy. I've felt nauseous and unsettled for weeks, but I haven't thrown up--though sometimes I'd wished I just would. Sometimes I felt like it was worse not having full-blown morning sickness, because I still felt awful and drained, but it didn't immobilize me so much that I couldn't go into work or do what needed to be done. I just felt like curling up into a ball under my desk most days. Of course, due to my feeling sickly and my constant unsettled stomach I haven't been able to run--at all. 

Now that the nausea is abating and I'm starting to get my energy back I'm hoping to continue my running--albeit probably not as enthusiastically as I was before I found out I was pregnant. The reality of being with child has not fully settled on my psyche, and I think that may be the biggest reason I've haven't been able to wrap my mind around the idea without fears and anxiety. It became more real after I heard the heartbeat for the first time, and even more so when I saw the little huckleberry dancing around on the ultrasound screen, but without the aid of nifty electronics to help me see and hear my babe, it just doesn't feel real during the day to day. I know it will be real soon enough though, and now that I'm feeling a bit better I'm more content to wait and enjoy the time I have to prepare my mind, my heart, and my home for April 8th--when our lives will become infinitely different and infinitely blessed.

first day of autumn.

I suppose today is as good a day as any to make my comeback into this space. Actually, today is probably a better day than most simply because of what today brings, and what today represents in the history of my writing. I found myself hankering for a cup of tea, simply to make sitting down and writing here again feel right. Cael is at my feet, that's normal. The windows are flung open, allowing the gloriously cool mountain air to waft in, washing over me in waves of new autumnal crispness, and letting the nightsong of the mountains be my accompaniment to this long overdue time of writing.

In our bedroom, there is a window that is on my side of the bed, only feet from me when I'm lying there waiting for sleep to claim me. Last night--and fortunately many previous ones as well--I drifted off to sleep with that window open. The sounds of the night were my lullaby, the scent of the mountains a balm, and the cool nightly breeze a light touch on my face. These things elements made for an easy and comforting time of falling asleep. And this morning I awoke to the first day of autumn. The day was heralded in with a cool sunny morning, and while it may have gotten quite warm inside my house, outside it was a lovely precursor to what the rest of this season will bring.

I celebrated by taking a solitary hike in the mountains of Montreat. I felt a little bad for not bringing Cael along, but as his is overdue on his flea medication I decided not to risk it. Truth be told, it was nice to be alone with the mountains. I chose a new trail, mostly because the normal one up Lookout already had a mass of cars parked at the bottom which most likely meant Greybeard Trail did too, and I frankly didn't want to have to deal with people. So I drove to the very top of Appalachian Way in hopes that I would find a trailhead up there. Luckily, I did. So I took a trail unknown to me today, I had no expectations--though hopes of a view are always with me on such hikes--I simply embarked on a new path and willed that it take me somewhere beautiful. If you know anything about Montreat, you'll know that virtually any trail in the cove will take you somewhere beautiful, and this one was no exception. The beginning was rather arduous and very steeply uphill, but I persevered and rested when I needed to, and was eventually rewarded with a meandering trail that was long, but not overtiring. I had to turn around eventually when I came across a hovel of a house that, while my imagination went in different directions both terrifying and exciting, I was convinced that I had gone far enough and should turn back. On the way back though I was able to harvest some beautifully intact acorns. As I collected them I saw many that were crushed or separated from their little brown caps, and I was reminded of when I was young and would go out looking for acorn tops, just the tops mind you, because my mother told me that they were fairy dishes, and that the fairies were ever  appreciative of people who found them the best ones to use for their feasts. I would spend hours collecting them, only the best for the fairies, and then I would put them under my pillow at night and in the morning the fairies would have left me a token of their appreciation in their place--usually a quarter or other small coin--but I reveled in the fact that I, a mere mortal, was providing dishes for the feasts of those magical little creatures. Thank you, Mum, for being such a wonderful advocate of imagination and folklore--I can only hope to be as wonderful a mother as you are to me to my own children.

So autumn, here we go again, please do not desist in your ever-present nudging of my mind to compose with words how enthralling I always find your nature, and how beautifully you inspire my creativity to praise your manner and Maker.

greybeard trail.

There is a certain smell, a certain atmosphere in the mountains of Montreat--surrounded by trees and rocks and the sound of running water; rhododendron, oak, pine--that calls to mind all that is good, all that is wholesome. It brings back memories of my youth, of family, of fun, of camaraderie, of love.
It calls to mind the beauty of God's creation, not only do these sights and smells call it to mind, they breathe with it, they sing in one resounding voice of God's glory. And it is beautiful. It is glorious. The Creator's signature is all around me, and it is good. It is good! It is beautiful. It is mysterious. It is home.

summer arrives.

Goodness, I'm still doing a pretty poor job of keeping up with this space. Apologies, apologies. To be fair, I do have quite a bit going on at the moment. There's work, of course, plus playing fiddle for my church's worship band, I finally got my garden sown and my tomato plants in the ground, running, spending time with Jeremy, cooking dinner, walking Cael, making dresses, still unpacking and any other number of sundry tasks that I decide to throw in. But life is good. God is good. There are some new opportunities coming up for Jeremy and I that could change things, but be challenging and good; blessings.

The fireflies are out in full force in the evenings now, they have been for a couple weeks. The first gloaming that I saw their luminescent song playing across our front yard I knew summer had arrived in the mountains. I also realized how long it had been since I had enjoyed the sight of them--lightning bugs don't grace the streets and closes of Edinburgh, though that would make summer dim up in the Highlands that much more magical.

Lately the heat of summer has made its way into the valley, though the nights are still cool and fragrant to temper the summer sun of the daytime. I'm happy to be home, happy to realize and recognize the things that I missed and enjoy them once again.

these mountains mean home.

God is so good. All of the time.


Here's what my lately has looked like, care of Instagram:

lightning bugs lightening up the dim.

i walked for lunch one day at work.

zucchini cakes. {recipe!}

always in awe.

fresh summer south carolina strawberries.