It’s the sweet smell of summer on the horizon. A smell that you almost forget—one you haven’t experienced it in eight months—since the last hot day in September. It’s hard to describe, but it’s marvellous.

There were many “oohs” and “ahhs” as I tore open the first burrata. It was a true piece of dinner theatre, especially when I didn’t stop at one, and continued to tear apart three more.

We got a huge dump of snow this past Saturday, and again on Monday. Somewhere in the region of 15-30cm on each day! Thankfully we have a snowblower, which we have been putting to good use.

Every time there is fresh snow in the morning, they burst out the backdoor with a totally renewed sense of glee.

Speaking of tradition—which I touched upon in my previous entry—our New Years Day polar bear dip is a fun one.

I think that traditions bring us closer to those we love, even when we are not physically together. And they allow us to instil meaning into the sometimes mundane. Which is to say that, a dinner is a dinner is a dinner. But a dinner steeped in tradition and ritual is something else entirely.

We could be here—and happy—for a short, medium, or even a long time. In the meantime, I am counting my blessings, slowly unpacking, and enjoying the peace and quiet.

We had the most wonderful brown butter chocolate chip cookie last weekend at Nº 9 Coffee Bar in Lunenburg. And I can’t stop thinking about it! First of all, it was huge—the size of a plate.