Please give a warm bloggy welcome to:
Written by new mom, Emma, who was my roommate for several months in my young 20’s.
I found her listing for a roomie, went to visit in the pouring rain, and we hit it off immediately. We lived in an illegal basement apartment which we paid for in cash every month. It was quite large, but with only the tiniest of basement windows, all linoleum flooring, and some very nosy neighborhood children. We also adopted a bunny who would come into my room at dawn and start scratching at my pillow so I would get up. I forget his name. I believe he lived out the end of his days on a farm somewhere in NH.
Emma is a marvelous and creative cook. She lives on her grandparents farm with her parents, husband, and daughter. I visited her earlier this year when her first child was born. The house is amazing. It’s an ancient farmhouse with narrow angular hallways, close-able doors everywhere, and an instant feeling of comfort. I don’t know anything about her family, but it’s a working farm (she just posted that there are pumpkins for sale) and if there were ever a house whose walls I wish would talk, these are the ones. I can only dream of what it must feel like to belong to a family whose roots reach so far and wide in one rural community.
My own family is spread across the country: our Mutt-like heritage manifesting in our tendency to wander.