As my keyboard is clacking, the windows are open to a cool breeze and I’m wrapped in a sweater. The maples are getting spots of gold and crimson, and the asters are showing off their blooms. I just tucked my fall seedlings into their beds a few days ago. Though we technically have almost two weeks of summer left, it’s very much feeling like autumn here in New England. It has me reflecting on these past few months and the incredible summer I didn’t even know I would have. Two years ago, when we spent time in the Cotswolds, I would’ve thought that was the best summer could get. But this one, with no vacation planned, has been the most beautiful, joyful, and magical summer I can recall having in quite some time, if not ever.

At the beginning of June, Andrew and I vowed we would spend time at the beach most weeks of the summer. Honestly, I wasn’t sure if we’d make it happen because we’ve also hoped for the same in past years and made it to the shore only a couple of times. When you live a mere hour from gorgeous beaches, it can feel downright unappreciative to not visit them regularly. It also seems almost sacrilege for a New Englander (transplant or not) to not visit the sea as much as possible.

Around the same time, my bestie, unfortunately, was laid off. What was, at the time—to be frank—a shitty situation acted as a catalyst for making more beach days happen.

Part of my eagerness to be in and near the water more was that I’m still—at age 35—learning to swim. I grew up far from any sea in eastern Kentucky and southern West Virginia and simply never learned. Much of my 30s has been about learning/trying lots of things I never did when I was younger, like learning to ride a bike a couple of years ago and kayaking for the first time this year.

So, over the span of around three months, we loaded up most weeks and went to our favorite beaches, where I quickly became more comfortable in the water and bobbed around until I was either pruney as hell, sunburnt as hell, or both. We spent many a weekday at DuBois Beach in the stunning & historic town of Stonington, Connecticut, watching cormorants dry their wings in the sun and peering across the bay to Rhode Island.

It was on one of these trips that we were driving through the nearby town of Mystic (yet another stunning Connecticut town that I’ve probably mentioned in this space a dozen times) and finally stopped at a taco spot we’d passed countless times. We proceeded to have some of my favorite tacos I’ve ever had (Oyster po’ boy tacos?? Um, YES.), sipped delicious palomas around a fire outside, and even played a few games of bingo. We went back the week after, and the week after that.

We also made a couple of trips to our favorite town in the world—Marblehead, Massachusetts—and plonked through low tide at Fort Beach. I was thrilled to show Margaret (the aforementioned bestie) Marblehead, as she’d had to listen to Andrew & I go on about it for years. The outcome: She, too, fell in love and immediately added it to her Zillow notifications.

Marblehead is always pure magic for Andrew and I, but on our trip with Margaret, we noticed volunteer docents providing information for wildly historic Fort Sewall (one of our favorite spots because of its rocky, quartz-strewn cliffs overlooking the harbor and its lighthouse). Not only did the very kind volunteer give us information about the fort, but he also gave us a book on its history and told us of how he and his wife had wanted to live there for ages and were finally able to make it happen. For Andrew and I, who have also wanted to live in Marblehead for ages, it felt like a fortuitous conversation.

Marblehead, surrounded by many islands, is home to Gerry’s Island, accessible by a small causeway only during low tide. The island was once home to a handful of houses and other structures, but now only the foundations remain. We made a couple of trips out to the island, somehow miraculously watching the sunset over the bay from its shores both times.

The day Margaret had joined us in our favorite place, we’d ventured over to Salem after, just a couple of miles up the shore. Dusk had come and gone and we strolled the grounds of the Salem Maritime National Historic Site, making our way along historic Derby Wharf’s causeway to the squat little lighthouse resting at its end that watches over Salem Harbor. I distinctly remember that the full moon looked ethereal as it climbed the darkened sky. The infamous town’s shops, restaurants, and many church steeples glowed around us, only adding to the dreamlike quality of the night. I said to Andrew and Margaret, “I don’t even know how one day can fit so much good.” And it was true. I felt that way many, many days this summer.

I feel compelled to mention the somewhat-unsuccessful trip to a local pond just north of us in Massachusetts, which had seemed appealing due to being slightly closer to home and also close to a town we enjoy visiting. Andrew, Margaret, and I ventured into the murky water once, only up to our knees, and proceeded to see staff cleaning an absurd amount of goose droppings off the beach and out of the water. It was a lovely spot to relax in our chairs under the shade of pines, but… Never again.

So, we’re obviously not pond people, but what an incredible gift it was to take a full day each week to truly relax, listen to small waves crash against the shore, and kinda-sorta even learn to swim.

Years ago, I saw this quote somewhere: “Live where you vacation.” And even though it’s incredibly obvious that not everyone can do that (or even most people, for that matter), it stuck with me. I am so grateful for where I’m from, but I also was rarely happy about living there. I felt the same when I moved away for college, and similarly when we had a farm in Virginia. It wasn’t often that I felt lit up by those places and I dreamed of living somewhere that did that for me. This summer of day trips truly made me feel like I was on vacation and there was never a point where I got over that feeling.

For a while, I felt almost obsessed with planning The Next Big Trip, but after our stay in Edinburgh last fall, something shifted in me. That pull waned and I felt excited to focus on our local surrounds again (and house projects, to be honest). I mean, we live in freakin’ New England, for goodness’ sake. It has been incredible to take time to enjoy more of the magic we’re enveloped by here, and it served as a reminder that awefaring can happen daily, not just on a trip to somewhere new.

A couple of weeks ago, we essentially celebrated both the end of summer and Andrew’s birthday with some beachcombing in Marblehead with dear friends and a day sail on the Schooner Fame in Salem. Andrew and I both love maritime history, but A. is certainly *obsessed*. That absolutely lovely day sail acted as the seed for Andrew working aboard the Fame some days this autumn. I can’t help grinning as I type because I am 100% just as excited as A. to continue our seaside summer into autumn (because I am most definitely accompanying him on these trips to Salem and exploring while he hoists sails).

I’m already looking forward to catching y’all up on Seaside Autumn and explaining how I survive (let’s hope) the masses descending upon Salem next month.

But truly, what a life. What. A. Life. I am unendingly grateful.

For anyone reading, I’d love to hear about your summer, or hear about what lights you up in your own life. I hope many, many things do.

And now, it’s time to tackle the overgrown parts of our yard and garden (I will admit, more time on the beach meant less yardwork) as tinged leaves fall and bees bob around my marigolds and sunflowers.  

With one foot in this season and another in the next,
Lara