that one week.

It seems the older I get, the idea of living a life of adventure appeals to me more and more. I've always been one for wide open spaces, large bodies of water, trees of any kind. My mother often wonders aloud, why didn't I make you a country girl? And as much as I try to feed my wandering soul with stories, photographs, and apricots (because they remind me of that one orchard by the mountains in British Columbia), nothing measures up to the real thing. So for now, I cake comfort in campfires and dirty toes. In planting season and grass-stained knees and waking up with diffused sunlight in my eyes, seeping through the walls of a tent. 

Last week, nana and grampy came out to live by our town's little beach for a few days. To put it simply, it was the week I didn't know I needed. Today, there are no grains of sand to be found between my toes, I did not wake up with the smell of last night's campfire lingering in my hair. But soon, that's all there'll be time for. Stuart McLean told me so.

"Summer's coming. Before you know it, all there will be time for is the smell of sun on your skin. Someone's cottage. Summer love."

-Stuart McLean, The Vinyl Café Notebooks