The Point has been as quiet as the skies and posting for the sake of posting is not really the point.
We have been here three years now. The rewards of the place have deepened considerably and they were already considerable from the start. This is a place I know now; a place that when I hear a bang my mind's eye can provide the damage. A place where each creek in a step is familiar, each light in a window is a time of day to the minute, each rotation of the light is a deep breath before sleeping. This cottage and this tower and these grounds fit me (I think all three of us) like the oldest pair of slippers and the worn out jeans and the moth eaten sweater and the brutalized baseball cap that you would never, ever, ever think of throwing away.
The history has become a part of us and we hope us a part of the history. The celebration last year and the work to resurrect the shed and the utility room were like a movie road trip that reveals some unknowns about the characters and resolves itself with a new kind of bond. I can see the flowers to be arranged in the gardens already. I can see what I would like to do with some dicey spots in the kitchen. I can see it is time for a paint job in places and I can clean this place from top to bottom in about 30 minutes without cracking a sweat. And in case it sounds like I am getting jaded, let me assure you that every morning and every night there is another chance to notice the blue of the ocean, (yesterday the blue of a Bic pen cover) or the less than flame, more than orange color of the sun in the west, or the more than murmur, less than rumble of the water on the rocks out front here as they remake the ocean side beach one more time. It is a constant sensory extravaganza, sound, sight, smell, the knock around of the wind the other night had the house shaking again nearly as bad as the first week we were here and I was seasick in bed. The place is in my bones, and yet it is still teaching me something, still exciting, still a challenge, (birds got into the Tower and trashed the place; a purple red berry mess all over the auxiliary light), still a place to plan and share and care for, be diligent about. I don't get sick of the old stories and I know I am going to get some new ones as the season changes and the crowds thicken.
Pretty fast three years I'd say. Lots to do and lots of growing. Thanks for checking in from time to time to see what's going on.