Paradise, by the Morning Lights

I am pleased—nay, relieved—to announce that paradise has arrived chez nous.

Paradise, according to my standards, that is.

Your idea of paradise might be very different from mine. Yours might not include early morning walks, with long shadows and stunning green.


Maybe you don’t care for birds singing and roosters crowing, and woodpeckers pecking. Maybe the sight of old cats finding their inner kitten and frolicking in the sun fails to impress.

Maybe you’re bored with flowers blooming and grass greening, and the sound of lawns being mowed. Maybe the uncurling, unfurling, of tender hosta leaves doesn’t move you.

A lake free of ice and full of sparkles, with boats venturing out in spite of the water temperature being a mere 40 degrees F (that’s about 4 C)—maybe that doesn’t spell paradise to you.


The signs of spring and the hints of summer abound. The promises of things to come are all around.

My paradise isn’t a static place—paradise doesn’t stand still. It whispers and suggests and promises that even more and even better is . . . soon.

Peonies, Solomon seal, lilies of the valley . . . they will come.

Old chairs on new grass, and the good old, same old sun. Kayaks in the water, bikes on the road, hot dogs on the grill. Music and song at the campfire.


And two of our favorite people will arrive from their Florida home and take up residence just down the road.


My paradise is . . . well, paradise! I hope you have your own, whatever it looks like.

The Road to Summer


I love this view.

Not so much for what it shows us now but for what it represents.

I’ve never walked down this particular path but I know that there lies, under the snow, a dirt road.

And that road leads to summer.

Roads like this exist all over the North Country. In the winter, they are never plowed, no one ventures there.

But at the end of all the roads, you can still see that glimpse of what’s to come. That blue at the end of the path? That’s lake and sky . . . and the promise of summer

Come May, maybe Memorial Day, after the snow is long gone and the mud has dried out, those dirt roads will beckon under canopies of new green. That blue sky and lake at the end will draw family members back to “camp.”

I’ve never seen the specific camp at the end of this path but I have a very good idea what it looks like. Small, with a couple of added-on rooms that were probably poorly planned and done by workers lacking skill. There’s probably indoor plumbing and running water but that, too, is a recent addition.

There won’t be heat in this building because it’s never needed—the small house is used only in summer. The rooms are small and probably dark but no one spends any time inside anyway. A large screened-in porch provides a transition to outside and maybe a spot for sleeping during really hot nights.

The yard is where the action is. In the yard you’ll find picnic tables and Adirondack chairs, quite possibly a hammock. And a jumble of summer toys—kayaks, canoes, water skis. A fire pit, for sure, and a big grill for cooking.

On winter days, when it’s really quiet, I can walk past the end of this dirt road and hear the sounds of summer. The buzz of the jet skis, the hollering of kids as they splash in the lake, the calls of “how do you want your burger done?”

We don’t have a long dirt driveway at our house and our house, now, is a year-round home, with all the mod cons.

But we strive to preserve the feeling of “camp” and days when family and friends gather, the days are long and mellow, the music lifts us, the food and drink sustain us. We look to the days when our short asphalt driveway transforms into the essence of a long dirt road—that leads to summer.

Here’s to All Our New Starts

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We’re obsessed. It’s everywhere, on Facebook, on our blogs, all the places we communicate with others. We’re all talking about this new start, this new chance, this new leaf to turn.

2016—this new year.

We’re making resolutions and goals and lists and choosing “one little word” to guide and motivate us. We’re talking about the projects we finished as the old year ended and the ones we’ll start today, to start the year right..

I’m just fascinated by all the weight and symbolism we assign to the new year.

I’ve been doing it all morning.

I wrote in my personal journal about the goals I have for this year.

I went for a walk, to start the year right. When I got to the hill, I didn’t stop and turn back. I went to the top . . . to start the year right.

It was cloudy—was that a sign that the year might be bleak? No, look at that expanse of unsullied snow—that’s surely a sign, a metaphor for the year before me.

And, look, the sun is coming out after all!

Now, I’m going to go wash the sheets and tidy the kitchen counters and wind a new warp and cut some fabric for a quilt . . . to be sure to start this year right!

I’m sure humans have been doing this since calendars were invented. As soon as we could point to one day that was an Ending and the next a Beginning, we started thinking about those days differently than all others and we started thinking about our lives differently from that day to this.

I imagine all calendar-based cultures have superstitions about these new years and starting them well. If I were a grad student again, maybe I’d research these superstitions. But I am a blogger now, and rumination wins out over research.

The one tradition that I am most aware of is the eating of pork and sauerkraut on New Year’s Day. When I moved to central Pennsylvania, I was introduced to this tradition and, boy, did they take it seriously! A guy I knew told about his grandfather who was in the hospital on New Year’s and was not given pork and sauerkraut. So, he died. Bad luck, indeed!

No one could tell me where the practice came from so I researched it and learned that the tradition came from Pennsylvania Germans. They believed that it was good luck to eat pork because pigs root forward, symbolic of the future and progress, while other animals scratch backwards. The eating of sauerkraut meant that the bitter of the year could be dispensed with on the first day, leaving the rest of the year for the sweet.

Because I am the past, present, and future President of the Pollyanna Fan Club (no term limits—yay!), all the signs and symbols I see are positive, all I see before me in this new year are possibilities and opportunities. Even the fact that I was up at 3 a.m. today (and, no, it wasn’t because I had stayed out all night partying) can be turned into a sign of being eager to begin this new, special year.

But I think that’s human nature. Does any good Pennsylvania German sit down to pork and sauerkraut and think, “Humph. The pig is dead and it’s just fermented cabbage, not magic. This year is clearly going to suck”? Does anyone raise that glass of bubbly and say, “We who are about to die, salute you”?

Nah. We relish our positive signs and good portents and wish each other well. We choose to believe that this, this, will be the best year.

I really like this about human nature, yours and mine. We all know that this is a day like any other day, it’s just an arbitrary marker. And, yet, we use it to challenge ourselves to be better, to do better. We celebrated last night in ways consistent with what we want for year. Some of us went out and were social and adventurous, others stayed home and were cozy and mellow, all hoping to lay the groundwork for a very fine year.

But, maybe, when the bloom is off the new year and its spiffy new shine seems tarnished, we should remind ourselves that a new beginning is a state of mind and only an arbitrary marker. Every new day starts a new year, a new cycle in our lives, and we should greet them all with wonder.