I’m writing from my sister’s sunny kitchen in Montana. The coffee pot is quietly brewing a crema brûlée flavored blend, and I’m looking forward to that first warm sip. The house is peaceful, and the dog is my only company; thankfully he’s content, because I’m hopeless at pet care.
Our busy summer at camp has wrapped up, and before it ended we piled into the car for a brief road trip. Over the past six days we’ve driven many miles, which gives a person a lot of time to think. One theme kept returning to my mind:
Seasons
This trip marks more than a change in the calendar; it marks a shift in our family life. We drove because we needed to take our second son to college. Whether I felt ready or not, the time had arrived.
It feels like only yesterday he was bouncing in a jolly jumper, and yet here we were, unloading boxes and making a dorm feel more like home.
This is a season of adjustment for my heart. I won’t pretend it doesn’t sting a little. Still, I’m trying to notice the beauty in the change—just as the turning of the year brings the colors of fall, transitions in life can carry their own quiet beauty.
The day before we dropped Joel off, our whole family gathered to celebrate my in-laws’ 50th anniversary. Standing together in the same place felt rare and precious, so I grabbed the moment and took a family photo.
(That picture will almost certainly make its way onto our Christmas card.)
After settling Joel, we detoured down to Montana to visit my family. It was a short trip—just a few days—but I wanted to savor every moment. The back-and-forth between joyful hellos and the bittersweet goodbyes left my heart stretched between excitement and longing.
These visits reminded me that seasons don’t just pass; they teach. I was only in sixth grade when my first nephew was born. Yesterday I met his daughter—my precious great-niece—and also got to hold another niece who was less than two weeks old. Those tiny faces and new-baby scents are a vivid reminder of how life keeps renewing itself.
And most of all, I’m grateful I got to hug my mom. Those ordinary moments—hands held, a tight hug, a shared laugh—felt more meaningful than ever.
Now I’m spending a few days with my sister and her family, treasuring the simple rhythms of shared meals and conversation, before we head back home. Our youngest will start school a week later than planned, and I’ll be left imagining what this next season looks like for me: quieter mornings, different routines, and new ways to fill my time and my heart.
There’s a certain wind of change in the air, and while I don’t know exactly where it will lead, I’m trying to stay present and grateful. Life moves in seasons—some brief, some long—and learning to notice the moments between one phase and the next has become its own kind of practice.
Finally, a little confession: when the photo of Joel and me was taken, I’m pretty sure he muttered, “This better not end up on the blog!”—and yet here it is. Oops.