The rural roads of Virginia are dotted with small farm stands where eggs are still $3.00/dozen. Most of them operate with an honor system for payment. The produce varies from season to season. The stands are makeshift; this one is made from an old door (I can still see the hinges attached). Many are named after family and reflect the commitment family farmers have to feeding their neighbors.
Farm Fresh, Eggs for Sale, Caroline County, Spring 2026
I love trying new things, keeping my options open, and staying curious. But too many new things can be overwhelming, too many options feels like a recipe for unhappiness, and curiosity overdone seems like a never-ending quest for answers. Sometimes I just want to stop worrying about missing out and experience the freedom of loving what I already have.
When have I found joy in stepping off the “upgrade treadmill”?
loving my husband for 45 years, and doing all the work to keep the relationship healthy
taking pictures with the used camera I bought in 2017 and loving the way it feels in my hands
driving a 2010 model car with over 200,000 miles on it and treating her like she’s my best friend
living in the same house for 41 years and making it a place of light and laughter and comfort
holding onto a smart phone that is not new but paid off
smiling at my own reflection, gray hair and wrinkles, knowing full well that upgrades happen from within
feeling satisfied with home-cooked meals, an analog watch, and visits to the library all of which help to keep spending in check, one way or another
avoiding wellness programs and plans that always seem to be trying to sell me some better version of myself and letting go of the fear that I might die; because, well, I will.
I am enjoying a relaxing approach to photography these days. Most days I take a little photo walk. See the antique orange car, partially covered by the blue tarp? The picture is from today’s photo walk. I stopped by the thrift shop and picked up the gorgeous Spode plate. I’ve been on a kick of serving our very ordinary meals on very special vintage plates. The flowers from Westwind floral bouquet #5 are still serving me well as photographic subjects. It’s easier to make these kinds of still life pictures when I just leave the backdrop (an old painting tarp) up in my makeshift studio (the garage with the door partially up). I have a little assortment of vases and flower frogs and a few simple props. I’ve been using my new tripod and really love that it is lightweight and simple to use. I love being able to swap lenses (35mm, 50mm, 85mm) and move whatever table I am using back and forth to influence the look of the picture. I’m kinda hesitant to edit the photos too far from true, but what I love is that soft, grainy, romantic look. I’m not there yet, but I’ll keep practicing.
These are the works in progress that will make up my florilegium project. I can’t decide if this will be a book or maybe a stack of fine art prints arranged in an artful box (maybe a cigar box or a box covered with marble paper?).
This is fun. Challenging in just the right amount.
Little Donna, 1961
I realize now, thanks to the help of a trusted therapist, that I spend a lot of time explaining and justifying myself, my choices, my feelings, and my behaviors. I mean A LOT of time. This is a habit borne out of a long-held belief that if I can make others understand my perspective, they will agree with me, or at least see why I am the way I am. And agreement equals safety, and safety is everything. As though I need permission to simply be myself. With my logical mind, I can plainly understand that this is not healthy. But try telling that to my inner child who is still trying desperately to protect herself. It’s a process.
I was reading a post from Colin King’s The Last Layer today. Even though his post, You’re not missing anything, was ostensibly about the design of a room, I could easily draw parallels to my own need to optimize the hell out of everything.
“That’s the shift I’m still learning how to trust. That clarity doesn’t always come from adding the right thing. Sometimes it comes from removing the thing that’s interrupting what’s already working.
I see this outside of rooms too, which is deeply inconvenient.
In conversations where I say one sentence too many and can feel the moment politely leave. In work that would’ve been stronger if I stopped a paragraph earlier. In decisions where I keep searching for a better answer instead of trusting the first quiet one, which was correct and annoyingly calm.
There’s a version of more that feels like care. Like you’re being thorough, attentive, invested.
And then there’s a version that’s just avoidance wearing a nice outfit.
I’m not always great at telling the difference.
But I’m getting better at recognizing when I’m adding something to solve a feeling instead of a problem. Which, unfortunately, is most of the time.”