Waxing/Waning
It was knit hat weather when we arrived in Pelican, but it's comfortable in just a sweatshirt by the time we leave. The day of our seaplane, there are moments of golden sunshine on the mountains.
I'm sad to leave, more than I expect. Maybe it's the summer season starting. Maybe it's that I've felt well, and fed, and in community. The timing on feeling like myself matches the predicted progression of pregnancy, but it's hard not to attribute some of it to the setting.
Because pregnancy is idiosyncratic, my parents have had to learn what to expect from me. Robert, having been there the whole time, treated me gently, helping me down steep banks, naturally taking on any tasks requiring a lot of energy. When they went hiking, I stayed back and so did he. When he snacked, so did I. He steered the skiff out over the waves to the hot springs, and kept the throttle low so as not to bounce the baby.
In the evenings, the four of us were the right number to play hearts on some evenings. On others, we imagined possible futures: in the long term, we're agreed on all living at Wildwood. There is a small second house in the offing, though it's not yet clear if it's meant to be Robert's and mine or Rick and Eileen's. Eileen had photocopied pages of books on tiny home design.
It's all hypothetical to some degree; we'll spend some months there with the baby…
