winter

A little bit of winter.

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Winter time comes briefly in South Carolina and it’s one of my favorite seasons. Any chance I get to see the snow, I jump at like a little girl ready for her first seasonal sledding session.

I spent my youth in the snow belt of the north east - a part known for it’s lake effect snows. It wasn’t uncommon for us to get FEET of snow at a time. We were often buried in white through January and into March. For some reason, it always felt really magical to me. The hush of the world under a gentle snow is something you can’t explain to someone who hasn’t experienced it before. There is a hush…a stillness.

While spring symbolizes fresh starts, there is something about a blanket of fresh snow that makes me feel like big things are coming. Maybe it’s the blank canvas it seems to look like as the world is blanketed with a crisp restart. To me, this is what feels like the beginnings of a fresh start, but with the promise of a little rest, comfort and calm before the party happens.

While we walked through the woods the other day in the snowfall, stepping over brambles of future juicy and tart blackberries, sweet and succulent blueberry bushes slumbering under the snow, and seedlings of little trees full of hope, I was comforted as much as what was coming as I was by what was here…what was right now.

If winter teaches me anything each year, it’s that every phase of life - every chapter we are in - is a lovely and precious experience. The chilly slumber of winter that leads to the blossoming of spring. The crisp spring mornings that lead to the prickly heat of summertimes that smell like sunscreen and salt water. They are all significant. We need each thing to get to the next.

The importance of being present and where I am at the moment means more to me now than ever before. It’s precious time. Sacred moments. Even those bad parts - whatever they may be to you - have their place…

So this winter, you can find me chasing this chill before I start exploring for those summer waterfalls and seashells. Because each season and chapter needs it’s own celebration.

Blog love

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I love food photography almost as much as I love cooking. And I worked tirelessly and forever to develop my craft. The way I did it was to create a food blog, Plate South, where I test recipes and develop new ways of eating classic comforting foods found as close to home as I can get them. That means working with farmers, and even getting some consulting done on my very own little back garden.

This photo was taken in my development on Sausage + Kale soup - a hearty and comforting winter meal for sure. Served up with some crusty bread and a glass of red wine makes for the coziest winter night.

Now all you need is a little Netflix binge and you are ready to go.

Go check out my blog if you love all things food and restaurants in the south!

Libby

Lessons in the Blooms

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These lovely Camellia's are happily blooming all around my yard right now, simply oblivious to the fact that it's the dead of winter in most areas. These plants enjoy coming to life in the cooler months and showing the world their magnificent colors and textures. They use the warmer months to go dormant, saving their energies for now when they really need it. It seems counter intuitive to what we understand plants to be, but this is how they are most comfortable. And we nurture them where they are planted and how they best thrive.

Wouldn't it be great if we gave our fellow humans that functioned like this a little more understanding? Wouldn't it be great if we just accepted that some of don't learn the same way the rest do and flourish under different circumstance? Wouldn't it be awesome if we accepted people as they are and understood that that mostly, everyone is doing the best they can?

If it weren't for the camellias blooming now, the landscape would be bleak with dormant trees and brown turf everywhere. But these happily blooming plants are there adding color to our lives when we least expect it.

Wouldn't it be great if we could see this same lesson in our partner, neighbor, or child? How can you accept their blooms where they have left them for you to see and not just where you expect them to be?