Afresh

My dear friend Sarah had an enchanting post today about May Morning in Oxford. It’s a pageant I’ve always longed to witness, and one which Philip and I have promised ourselves we’ll experience in person one day. Reading about it in her words, luminous with her joy, made my heart ache a little.

May Morning, Island-style

But I’ve had a blessed May Morning of my own this side of the Pond, a little personal celebration of warmth and awakening. My day began, not with Latin exultations and choir-song, but red-winged blackbirds, the hymn of the sea, and the incense of salt marsh. A long, day-dreamy bike ride and a thermos of good coffee comprised my ritual, and a dip into a prayer book gave voice to my praise. For after a winter of exile, I’ve returned to my Island–and in returning, as always, I recover a part of myself which I leave behind each time I go back to the mainland.

That part of me is safe here, for, despite the encroaching evidences of an upturning economy on a seaside location, this place never really changes; my desperate prayer is that it never will. We made a careful, almost breathless, circuit of our beloved haunts yesterday, taking note of the smallest updates and alterations. (Philip has to remind me from time to time that some of my favorite elements were once ‘updates’.) In all, nothing too troubling; the only real shock was that local watering hole on the historic wharf had been razed. It really was a dive, and the service generally awful–but we’ve made some very happy memories there, and I was sad to see it go.

“Nothing endures but change,” I said, gazing at the empty spot on the wharf.

Everything else, on the other hand, is pretty much right where we left it, and we’re so thankful. We had an inaugural  picnic on the beach last night of Bahn Mi and a bottle of crisp white, and it was a perfect evening, with a strong, warm breeze, a watercolor sky, and a deserted shore. We sat until it was nearly dark, looking out across the Sound and remembering the days when we ached with longing for what we held that very moment: a month by the sea, a darling little Airstream to call home, and all of it ahead of us.

The Shore Path

That’s always the best part to me of any adventure or celebration: the cusp, the sweet crisis point of anticipation. The longing fulfilled yet still tugging at our hearts, pointing beyond itself to a deeper fulfillment, a ‘realer’ realization. The transcendent gift of “now and now and now”; the mystery of eternity locked in the present moment.

That’s a lot of what I hope to be thinking about in the coming month, a theme that’s been occupying my mind and gathering words around itself of late. It’s been a wonderfully busy beginning of 2017, with papers due, writing deadlines to meet, and talks to prepare–scarcely a moment unaccounted for! But I’m excited to say that with the coming of spring I’ve been pondering and praying through a new vision for this site, a polishing of ideals and a sharpening of values. Without sacrificing an iota of old-fashioned sensibility, I’m very much inspired to refine this space in a way that will make it more focused for me, and, hopefully, more useful to you, dear readers. It’s because I know you’re there and that you care about what happens here that I’m emboldened, not only to keep writing, but to steward my little corner of the web with intention and great love.

It’s my goal, like the updates I’ve seen on my beloved island over the years, to make this site more itself, not less. And it’s for that reason that I’d love to hear from you in terms of what could make it easier to navigate, and what you would enjoy seeing here.

Airstream Breakfast

In closing, here’s the recipe from last night: easy, Paleo-friendly, and even better the next day (I’m eating it now as I type, and I can vouch for this). You don’t have to make it in a 24-foot camper or eat it on the beach, but it sure lends itself well to both!

Airstream Bahn Mi

1 pound pork tenderloin, sliced in 1/2 inch medallions
3 cloves of garlic, sliced
2 Tablespoons Red Boat fish sauce
1 teaspoon black pepper
1 large bag grated cabbage and carrots
2 cups finely chopped English cucumber
3 green onions, minced
3 Tablespoons each of mint and cilantro, chopped
1/2 cup mayonnaise*
3-4 Tablespoons fresh lime juice

The day before you plan to serve it, marinate the pork in the fish sauce with the black pepper and garlic.

At serving time, heat a skillet with 2 Tablespoons of olive oil, and sear the meat for 3-5 minutes, until done. Remove from the pan and slice into thin strips. Mix the mayonnaise and the lime juice in a small bowl, then combine with the vegetables and herbs in a larger bowl. Toss in the pork, and top, if desired, with finely minced jalapeño. Salt and pepper to taste.

Makes 4 generous helpings (or dinner for 2 with leftovers for lunch!).

Serve on Melmac plates, preferably in view of the sea.

(*I made my own! By hand! On a camping trip! Sorry, I’m inordinately proud of that mayonnaise, especially considering how easy it was… 😉 But, oh my goodness, it was so delicious. Homemade mayonnaise will make this dish, if you have a few extra minutes to prepare it!)

Bahn Mi on the beach

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18 Comments

  1. Though I’ve not followed long, it feels as though I’ve WAITED long for this post! I can’t think of anything to change the blog (I know this is not helpful) except perhaps the frequency of posting 🙂

    I’m sure the inspiration and direction will come from a Source higher than this reader. Praying that as you “marinate” in the beauty of this time and these surroundings that freshness and vision will emerge. ♥

    1. Thank you, Rebecca! And, yes, frequency of posting is definitely a top priority! 🙂

  2. Yes!The frequency of posting is the only thing i would like to be different!Your blog is a breath of goodness and sanity in a world that unfortunately lacks it!(sorry for the mistakes i am Greek)Efi.

    1. Hello, Efi, and thank you for such encouraging words! You will definitely see more posts in this place. 🙂 And your English is lovely! 🙂

  3. Agreed, nothing to change here! it has to be “your” space and people are drawn to it because it’s ‘of you’ 🙂 I hope you enjoy the quiet of being in nature! God bless!

    1. Thank you, Elizabeth. One thing I’ve always loved about my little readership here is the permission you all give me to be absolutely myself. This is gift, indeed, and I am so thankful. xx

  4. I love your blog, and I’d love to see more posts from you! I live on the other side of the country, way up in north Idaho, and seeing your pictures of the coast make me miss the South with all its warm, humid days. (I never thought I’d say that, but after a long, frozen winter and reluctant-to-appear spring, I do!) Your month on the island sounds so wonderful!

    1. Thank you, Sarah! 🙂

      Much as I complain about our Southern humidity, it’s actually the first thing I miss when I leave the South. 😉

      And, yes, as I mentioned below, a more regular posting schedule is my top priority. 🙂

  5. Hello Lanier,

    It’s always a lovely surprise to find a new post here. I imagine May is a wonderful time to be visiting your holiday island – the ideal combination of warm weather and beaches not yet crowded with summer visitors.

    You ask about changes to your blog. May I, as I imagine the wonderful, opinionated Helen Hanff, writing to her beloved English friends at 84 Charring Cross Road, might say, “I love it all – just the way it is.” Though, of course, a blog is housed by all kinds of technologies, coming to your web address feels just like coming into the wonderful world of a slightly old-fashioned (meaning perfect) second hand bookstore. The background is cluttered enough with shelved books to feel cosy, the categories options make for a search that is not so streamlined as to preclude the possibility of being delightfully sidetracked when hunting for a post I’ve read before. And I love that your photographs are framed in white, like marvelous, old postcards and photographs sent and received by friends, and that in the comments section, the proprietor still replies to queries from her readers.

    I know there is a trend towards clean lines and lots of white space on blog spaces. I suppose it mimics the aesthetic of many new stores – coffee shops, restaurants and yes, book stores too. Many people love the changes, finding them to be places of quiet calm. For me, both the real and virtual versions, feel a little too contrived, and I feel strangely exposed in them. Few bloggers still reply to comments which once provided a way to ‘meet’ kindred spirits. I miss that exchange.

    So, personally, I hope that the changes you make will be small…

    Be assured that whatever you decide, it is your writing, ultimately, that will keep me coming back. It is luminous with its quiet beauty.

    Continued blessings as you “steward [your] little corner of the web with intention and great love.”

    1. Dear Judy, as always, your words are wise and generous. Thank you for the input–I truly value it.

      And I really appreciate your very endearing reference to Helene, and dear old “84”! It is so affirming to hear that your experience here has been so much in line with what I’ve hoped for my readers on their end. I love a tatty-but-simple feel in general, and my husband and I thought long and hard about how to make this space feel cozy from the very beginning.

      There may be a *little* more white space on the landing page in the future (or pale blue! Who knows! :)), as I’m pondering attractive ways to help people easily locate destinations like Golden Hours and the Bookshop…but, I can assure you, it will not be at the expense of one iota of the old-fashioned sensibility I intend to keep cultivating. And you will ALWAYS find cluttered bookshelves here, both of the virtual and the pictorial variety.

      This will never be a blog for the “masses,” and I would never want it to be. I treasure the kinship of people who come here because they think like me, and find companionship in my words. Believe me–it goes both ways. And it always will.

      Thanks, again… xx

      1. Oh dear – I’m imagining the telling off I might have gotten from Helene for miscalling her Helen!!

        I think you might enjoy this wonderful, old BBC interview excerpt (about half an hour long) with her. I listened to it as I washed dishes last evening.

        http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/p0144n7w

        It will require a slowed down re-listening from me, as the pieces of music to which she refers are not played in the excerpt, and I now need to list the titles in readiness for a listen to them.

        I look forward to seeing whatever changes you settle on for this space. I have noticed in the past, that your work room is a soft blue, as is the pretty print on your business card, so I can imagine that as a possibility… or you might surprise us with white… or…

          1. Judy, what jewels! I cannot WAIT to listen to these! 🙂

            Thank you! xx

  6. I agree with Johnny Mullins, Loretta, Emmylou, and Skeeter:

    “Just bring yourself,
    You’re all [we’ll] ever need”

  7. Yes yes yes! A common pondering of mine is The Ache. (There is a home my heart knows so well and which I shall behold with my own eyes someday- my heart collapsing in and then exploding when I finally reach its shores. My own inner supernova. How I long for that day.) The Ache is the downpayment that truly, someday, there will be More. There will be All. Hasten the day!

    As for your site, I am biased but I think it is perfection already, a nook sheltered from the frenzied web. Perhaps just more postings of the same?

    🙂 Elyce

    1. Ah, YES–The Ache. I cannot think of a better way of putting it, Elyce. Your image of the supernova is exquisite–that will remain with me… xx

      And thanks for your feedback on the site. You are so sweet. Definitely committed to keeping things much as they are–with the exception of posting frequency. Fully intending to step that up. 😉

  8. I am reading this late, but as others have said, I wouldn’t change anything except to have more frequent posts. Thanks for your writing.

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