In the last four weeks, we have participated in no shortage of self-induced upheaval, insomuch as we went from having Very Routine Lives to routine-less, travel-heavy existences in far flung spots on the map. This was a month that saw our toes in the frigid Atlantic and laughing at seals while aboard a fishing boat named Dasakamo; a month that watched us move out of Vermont and into a two-story brick house in our home state; a month that had us pouring Austrian beers at a resort biergarten not two days after weeding a dahlia patch on a friend's produce + flowers farm in the middle of nowhere. Nothing has felt routine save the baby in Sam's belly kick, kick, kicking. Which, as it were, occurred for the first time at the beginning of this whirlwind month during a magical trip to Peaks Island, Maine . . .

As vacations are concerned, this one was especially memorable. The five of us stayed with a positively inspiring couple in their oceanfront home on Peaks Island. Not a bad place to conduct our final hurrah. There was a lobster dinner with the day's catch, cooked in ocean water. There were sauna sessions followed by a mad dash into the numbing waters of the Ocean. Morning walks around the island ushered in our days; a late night movie capped them. And a few hours before traveling home, we were treated to an impromptu, breathtaking tour of Casco Bay by way of our host's boat. We rode by pairs of mega-athletes tethered to one another, swimming from island to island (excuse me?) on our way to Chebeague Island, a rural fishing island that was inexplicably home to mouthwatering breakfast sandwiches and pastries. We purchased Robert McCloskey's One Morning In Maine for our baby because, you know. A month later we're missing our friends to be sure, but relishing what was a perfect coda to our time in the Northeast, lived alongside some very special people.





We have arrived in Vermont. More than just arrived, really; we have assisted with a few morning chores on the farm, moseyed around an indoor farmers' market, unpacked our bags at the "Fish & Game", and consumed truly delectable cow and goat milk cheeses fresh from our new place of employment. For the next few months, our job is to help the does of Consider Bardwell do theirs: kid! While definitively starry-eyed and sleepy from a great many hours spent in the car, it feels surreal and enlivening to be in Vermont; to be in a landscape wholly unlike the Midwestern one we know and love. But therein lies the mystery and motivation of travel—to befriend a new landscape and the people (and animals) who call it home. 

For us, Vermont has always called. Two years ago we spent an afternoon exploring southeastern Vermont while visiting our sister in New Hampshire—an oddly poignant, if brief, experience. We were taken with the beauty of the Green Mountain State and have since learned about the small farm landscape, the flourishing craft brewing community, and a state law prohibiting unsightly billboards (that is to say, all billboards) along the side of the road. What not to like?  

Unpacked and beginning to settle in, we know that we will have to get our bearings about us rather quickly. With ninety does set to give birth over the course of three days next week, we have our work cut out for us. The good news is that with one day down, we still feel confident that goats (and pigs, and chickens, and farm life in general) are for us. 




In three day's time,  I will have finished my last day at my current job, we will have moved out of our apartment, and all of our possessions—save for some work boots and the rice cooker—will be in a storage unit. In three day's time we will have made a decision about whether or not we're opening the door to a new adventure by signing a particular apartment lease. It feels simultaneously frightening and exhilarating. No strangers to change, these days feel like somewhat of an inevitable ripple in the framework of our adventurous life together. As my dad always says, "you've got to kick fear in the face." Pacifists though we are, fear seems like an adversary worth kicking in the face. Here's to goat farms in Vermont, paring down your material possessions, and having the freedom to explore the wide open world with the love of your life.