The first 3 years of living in Vermont for me was about remaking my relationship to home. Amy and I moved here with the idea that it was a “forever move”, but I feel like I’ve only started the forever part recently. Moving back to Vermont wasn’t an option until my father passed away in 2012. It might feel brutal or cold to write or read, but there was no place here for me or Amy until he was gone. Since my early twenties, I had assumed that I eventually would return to the farm where I grew up in Vermont.

I'm useless to start. Maybe I wash out my mug from yesterday or I hug Amy from behind as she pours water onto the ground beans, circling the stream of water around the expressive volcano of freshly ground coffee blooming in a white paper basket. It's intensely cold downstairs and fresh out of bed, I'm a nurse log of warmth for Amy who's lost the residual heat of the blankets after her trip outside to warm the car. Today, I'm working on a quiche recipe for this week's Friday Mornings at Tandem.