There is a little white house in Monteray that sits on a little hill. This house holds a little bit of my heart and will hold it forever. K and I were lucky enough to be invited to stay with his parents for a weekend this September. It was the perfect weekend as the days were sunny and the mornings were foggy. I never realized how much fog in a mountain looks like a solid wall. I set my alarm for dawn to walk out in the grass and watch the fog ping pong off the mountainsides. A cup of coffee in one hand and my honey in the other, it was bliss.
This weekend in the tiny house, with its uneven wood floors that creak at every step, reconfirmed for me our dream. It is so easy to forget what we are working for in this season of "city living". It is easy to get caught up in the comforts of new and better. But a weekend in the country is quick to remind me of the joy of reading on a blanket in the front yard, of sitting by a fire in the backyard sipping riesling with family, of a pre-dawn stroll with your husband with no one in sight for miles. It was nice to remember that the calm of the country is actually something we long for deep within our souls. I spent the entire weekend feeling right at home in mountains.
