finding myself in the fragments

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hi friends,

It’s been a week since I arrived on Monhegan, and while the rest of the Northeast has been cloaked in apocalyptic orange, here it’s been all about fog and fleece and building fires. Welcome to June in Maine—I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I'm happy to report that Gertie has proved to be island-worthy, making friends wherever she goes, which is anywhere and everywhere. John and I thought the boat might be an issue, but she walked right on without a moment of hesitation or ever looking back. As it should be.

Like Olive and Abby, I'm constantly stopped on the road. "What kind of dog is that? How much does she weigh? How much does she eat? She must LOVE to swim!" I don't know the answer to the latter question, but Gertie is a huge fan of Monhegan TV, otherwise known as the world’s wonder outside the window because "Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it."

When we first arrived, Starlink was silent, and my backup wifi was still on seasonal hold—all my notes and grand intentions stuck in the cloud as distant as stars scattered in the night sky. The experience reminded me of our first year on island when there was no cell reception, a payphone outside the post office in town, and you had to sign into the library to check your email on the single computer in 15-minute increments. It was 2005, the year of Hurricane Katrina, of which we were blissfully unaware throughout our entire vacation, and it was extraordinary.

That was the year I decided I never wanted to be anywhere else, and I’ve been coming back for nineteen summers ever since. My kids have grown up on island; I know I have too. Monhegan is where I've come to know myself in healing because the cure for anything is salt water—tears, sweat or the sea. (Isak Dinesen)

It’s the reason I keep coming back because I never know what I might find. Year after year after year. Still, some things always stay the same, such as my mornings measured in sea glass as my form of meditation.

One of the things I love about sea glass is the beauty that comes from its brokenness. Sharp shards polished with patience and the process of time. It’s an intuitive trust and an elusive process because I can lose sight of what I think I see. Sometimes I’ll find the object of my desire again. Other times I am meant to let go and trust that from what I cast into the water, there will be unimaginable rewards.

Over the years, I've filled many a bowl with the bounty of these soothing, smooth stones. Sometimes it can feel like I'm being greedy, but in my experience, there is always enough for everyone; there is always more to be found. And until this year, I've never found pieces like these:

I've seen extraordinary things on island, things unimagined in the middle of the swirl of the sea, to find myself amidst the fragments and recognize all the ways I am not broken. Indeed, I never was.

Sometimes what we need waits for us. Patiently. Before our eyes, beneath our feet. All we need is to put our ear close to our soul and listen hard (Anne Sexton) for an angel's wing to emerge. Transformation.

Monhegan is the secret I hold in the palm of my hand—it’s why I come here. To receive the quietude and the many gifts from the sea.

I’d love to know what you discover on islands all your own, or if you’d like, meet me here—I’ll greet you at the dock!

thanks for reading ~

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When Women Were Birds: murmuration, memoir, meditation

September 22 - 26, 2023

Monhegan, ME

word by word, the language of women so often begins with a whisper… . .

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this retreat is almost full!

if you have ever wished to experience Monhegan for yourself, this retreat is your invitation. It’s an embodied book group: to journey and journal through the words of Terry Tempest Williams's poetic memoir When Women Were Birds: Fifty-four Variations on Voice with the seasons of the sea. It is for anyone who longs to learn or return to the practices of writing and meditation, to discover our stories through silence and speech. all the details • 2022 retreat highlights here

I felt like the bright, salty sunshine and air of Monhegan scrubbed the corners of my soul, and I saw all the cracks and creases and also cleaned the gunk that needed to be moved. It was a deeply satisfying and nourishing experience. I feel like my personal bucket as a woman, mom, midwife, and human became filled to the brim with trust that we can have hard times and find meaningful ways to re-visit reintegrate into ourselves when the opportunity presents itself—Elsa, Philadelphia, PA, 2021 + 2022 retreater

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current contemplations

Spent a rainy weekend Happily curled up by the fire with my sweetheart and Sabrina Orah Mark’s collection of essays. Her writing is a tribute to all the reasons we turn to fairy tales not to escape but to go deeper into a terrain we’ve inherited, the vast and muddy terrain of the human psyche ~ homemade stories turned inside out.

Kara Cutruzzula

‘s daily newsletter is both a balm and the bomb inspiring me to keep going. Especially this week…because I’ve gotta a lotta tabs, among other things.

Hooray! An Everlasting Meal is one of the most dog-eared books in both my kitchen and on my mat. In other words, I take it and its wisdom everywhere I go. Now Tamar Adler has published a cookbook compendium—more than 1,500 “recipes” citing the many ways our leftovers are merely the beginnings of new delicious destinies. Could there be anything better for a summer of offshore island cookery? No, I don’t think there could.

Natasha Rao discusses poetry as a site of transformation:

I always enter a poem—either as a reader or a writer—not knowing where I’ll end up, and then I exit in a completely different place. The movement and change that happens are different because they can happen in such a condensed space. It feels a bit like falling in love—you blink and suddenly the whole world is new.

yes, I’m still thinking about Taylor—also crossing my fingers that this might be true… .

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