September is drawing to a close and October is on our doorstep. It doesn’t quite feel real: time seems to be slipping by every time I blink. We still have warm days, but now they’re interspersed with wind and grey skies and hints of rain.

Michael and I visited Apple Hill with my parents. We have an old tradition of visiting Larsen’s Apple Barn for lunch and dessert and perusing their museum before picking up our bushels of apples. I remember coming here with my siblings, and seeing pictures of them here while I was away at college. It was bittersweet sending them photos of Michael playing where we used to, so they could reminisce too.

I got a half bushel of honeycrisp apples to make apple butter and hope to can them this weekend, if Michael doesn’t eat them all first. He’s decided apples are one of his new favorite foods.

I’ve been trying to do more intentional baking and kitchen work with Michael. We had so much fun making cookies the other day: he loved cracking the eggs and pouring ingredients into the mixer. His favorite part was eating the cookie dough (one of the perks of having our own eggs). Waiting for them to come out of the oven was the hardest part.

Jake has been taking Michael on outdoor explorations after dinner while I rest or clean up. They play on the play set: Michael has gotten quite skilled at climbing rope ladders and going down the slide.

He also loves smelling every flower he comes across, and helping Jake or my dad feed the dogs. He’s learned the entire routine: from telling the dogs firmly to “sit!”, filling the bowls, to telling them to “wait!” before saying “okay!”. When he’s stalling bedtime, he’ll pretend he’s feeding the dogs and say “Bandit, Cosmo, Max, come here SIT!” over and over again.

I cast on another knitting project (despite having a few languishing works in progress). After making two sweaters last year, I had hoped to knit a sweater every year to add to my me-made wardrobe. So last week I started the Weekender Sweater by Andrea Mowry (my favorite knitwear designer). It’s large and boxy and cozy, which is perfect for my growing pregnant body.

I also chose a color outside my normal palette: a moody heathered mauve. I look forward to wearing it this winter.

I did manage to finish my 3 ply spin. It made more yarn than I was expecting: I’m guessing around 500 yards. I’ll measure it and wind it into a skein and weigh it and we’ll see what the final specs are. I’m hoping to make some baby knits out of it.

Being pregnant makes my love of handmade garments a bit more complicated. It’s made me reflect on change over the past few weeks: the change in seasons, the change in my body as I nourish this baby, the change in us all as we grow and age.

I recently went down a rabbit hole of looking at my old stories and posts on Instagram. It’s a sweet trip down memory lane to see the way I used to bake and cook and take so many pictures. I loved looking back at our first tiny apartment by the sea, and my joy in teaching and mentoring high school students, and the beautiful church community that welcomed us as newlyweds. Even navigating the pandemic, while unprecedentedly difficult, also had its golden moments: candlelit living room dates, hikes, cooking experiments; bringing home our first pet.

I am different than I was those few years ago. I still take as many pictures, though I post fewer of them. I bake less, but I make more. I write less, but I still feel fulfilled in my daily labor, even if it means putting some of my childhood dreams on hold for this season of life.

Time has changed me, like water shapes stone. I feel the same, but I look back and realize I can see where I’ve grown wiser, gentler, and stronger. It’s a strange feeling. I wonder how it will change or grow as I continue to get older.

Maybe it’s indulgent: this post feels a little indulgent to me as I sit and reminisce. But this meditation on change has reminded me that cataloguing the quiet joys in life is worthwhile.

And this is why I continue to write these posts and take the pictures. Even though there is a deluge of information on the Internet, even though everything urges you to monetize and promote and be competitive: in the end, none of that matters. I write so I can look back at the beauty that I may have otherwise forgotten. I write so I can see the formation of the person I am becoming. And I write to share these golden moments and musings with whomever wants to sit beside me as I chronicle.