What I'll Miss

There are many things I will miss about New England--it will be especially hard to leave behind my good friends and community.  I'll also miss, in no particular order, summer fireflies, living within two hours of the ocean, the stream that runs across the back of my property, a wonderful 12-grain bread from a local bakery, watching winter blizzards roar through, the warmth of a blazing fire in the woodstove, the amazing diversity of artists in the Pioneer Valley, and, of course, the glorious fall foliage.

Springtime in MA, with the bulbs just beginning to show.

I'll also miss my cozy little house with all of its good memories--the gardens which (for this non-gardener)  were a never-ending, ongoing work-in-progress, the diversity of wildlife (bobcats, coyotes, deer, and a wide variety of birds), sitting on the deck and watching the sunset or waving at the folks in a hot air balloon floating over at tree-top height, skiing out the back door to one of the trails, skating on the pond next door--many, many fond memories.

A portion of the front flower beds, summer of 2010.


 

A view off the deck in early spring, showing Plum Brook at the rear of the property.

 

New Beginnings

My spiritual journey home to the West began in 2004 with the death of my husband, Dan.  We had been together 36 years at the time of his death; needless to say, his death rocked the foundation of my life.  We had moved in 1973 from Colorado to New England, an area he loved but one in which I never felt quite at home--I missed the West's brilliant blue skies and distant views, the dramatically beautiful sunsets and glorious sunrises, the ways of Westerners, and other intangibles that I could never quite articulate but which I felt in every fiber of my soul.

Dan's death provided me with the time and space to grow in ways I couldn't imagine--sometimes that growth was exhilarating, often it was incredibly painful, but always, in the end, it was very much worth the effort.  I learned to trust my judgment, to follow my heart, and to understand that the universe is perpetually conspiring to help me. 

Over the next several weeks, I will be packing my belongings--mostly art and the contents of my studio--in preparation for the move to my new (temporary) home in Arroyo Hondo, NM.  I plan to rent for about a year while I look around beautiful northern New Mexico for my permanent home--a place where I will be able to get lost in incredible vistas from every window, raise a few horses and dogs, create my art, and generally live out the rest of my life in tranquility.  I hope you will join me on "My Journey Home," the subject of this blog.