Winter has hit. There’s snow to be shoveled, fires to tend to, and root vegetables to cook. So I am told. I left Maine in late December, before the storms and cold arrived to both delight and torture New Englanders. (Or during these strange times, before the balmy days of Christmas; sixty degrees!) December to February, people like to say, well, if you don’t like the weather, move somewhere else. In March they like to say, I’m so tired of this weather. I went west. On a looping, long road that took me from Colorado to Oregon to California to New Mexico. Back again to Colorado, and finally, to California, where there are piles of citrus at the farmers’ markets, big waves, and I am in a t-shirt, thinking about the avocados in the kitchen.

What can I say? The mountains were tall. The road was red and brown and sharp and expansive. There was dry snow and heavy rain. The trees were green and towering and mossy. The snacks were abundant; they were darn good, especially, as ever, the ones made at home and out in Portland. The sun-shined. Days and nights were full of time passed with old friends. Neil Young was on the speakers.

I read Elena Ferrante’s Neapolitan novels. I was enthralled by the first two. By the third I was slowed down by the heaviness of the story. Perhaps the nature of the soap operatic tangle is to be both incredible and awful at once. Still, it is epic. I recommend the series wholeheartedly. Also, have you read the zine Doris, by Cindy Crabb? My friend Tara gave me a copy to take in while I visited her, and I’m hooked. They’re about life. About being a woman, being a friend, being a person trying to make something. The stories about the struggles and situations that make living such a trip are raw, straightforward, heartening, much like Tara herself.

I met Tara last year, in the fall. Nora and I ventured down to North Carolina in large part to attend a pie-making workshop at her bakery, Smoke Signals. Fall, is, without a doubt, my favorite season. All of the intensity of planting and weeding fades away. The final pushes to harvest and wash storage crops are one time only cash-it-all-in moments that make way for cover crops and clean slates. There’s a high lonesome quality to the lowering light, the changing leaves, the first frost, that makes me happy, sad and ready for it all to happen again. And, ready to make pie.

Before and after the trip, I have been inspired by Tara. She’s creative, full of magic, but also operating a very real, successful business. In the mountains outside Asheville she makes damn good bread, pizza and pie, but also, educates and empowers people to bake + gather +share (her tag-line) in their own corners of the world. I had experimented with a pop-up bakeshop on the farm where I worked, and was searching for someone who could advise me in the constant process of trying to wrangle all the ideas I have, and make them into something tangible.

During the workshop she was warm, organized and taught us how to make extra flaky wood-fired apple pies. Since the workshop, we have stayed in touch. We talk about farming, baking, finding one’s place, relationships; about living. This conversation is endless. We may not figure anything out, but we can make a lemon chiffon cake, start a fire and sit under a watermelon slice shaped moon with neighbors and get somewhere.

I’m learning how to sit still, while being on the road. Hopefully I’ll learn how to surf this year. Happy January.

All photos credited to Nora Carr. ISO: Someone who can repair a Leica camera. If you know anyone, let us know.