In early August friend Hannah came to visit. Covid had put college on hold, so she was doing a little traveling. Maine agreed with her and she stayed a while.
She spent time exploring the area. She taught herself to knit socks, read a stack of books, painted and wrote and created. She went to Acadia National Park many times, hiking its stunning trails. She kayaked and swam, reorganized all my kitchen cabinets and was a pleasant guest. Her mom, Angel, flew to Maine last week, and worked from here, fitting in a few little fun trips with her daughter. She brought some of her bread starter with her and baked beautiful loaves of fragrant sour dough while she was here. Yesterday they loaded up Hannah's car and headed south. But they promised to come back to our happy place next summer, and we will look forward to that.
The house feels strangely empty when guests leave. Chris and I enjoy each others company, but it's always a little sad when we see friends or family roll out of the driveway. They leave echoes of laughter behind, and we are enriched by their being here.
In this case, Angel left a loaf of her peerless bread. I turned it into French Toast this morning. It was incredible.
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