I’ve been at the vineyard almost 2 1/2 months now. The grapes are harvested, equipment winterized, pipes drained and the house decorated for Christmas. The mornings are beautiful and quiet. We’ve had a dry December, and the sun rises far south, lighting all four mountains with pink and gray tones. The frost usually melts just after the commute hour from Finnigan Hill, but I know after a couple of morning runs that the Finni Hill Road will be on ice until afternoon.
I’m still looking for my daily rhythm. I still have boxes that need unpacking, but I walk in the vineyard every day—sometimes in the morning, sometimes the evening. My heart nearly bursts every time I step foot through the vines. It’s incredible to feel so connected to a place—a place that I can see the rest of my days. I dream of raising a family here and wonder if I’ve missed the window of time to have my own children. Books on foster and adoption sit waiting to be opened. So much to learn and understand. Still, so in love with this new life, and growing into this new chapter. I don’t know what took me so long to get here.