ROOTS

"On Dec. 11, my husband and I will fly to Paris, reviving a holiday tradition that was set aside during the pandemic. For more than two decades, we celebrated Christmas at friends’ homes there, and then friends and family would come to our place nearby for New Year’s Eve. Last year, away from Paris, I missed looking down our dinner table and seeing people I care about, together and joyful. I missed feeding my friends. I missed the hugs at midnight and the macarons minutes after."

-- Dorie Greenspan, The New York Times

Oat milk foams well whisking quick in a saucepan on high heat with brewed coffee - and the result is a homespun perfect cappuccino, spiked with cacao. It is hot chocolate weather today, a December rain on the islands that brought down northern cool, and it is cozy to warm up with both hands around the cup after that bite from a pastry-filled cookie. The perimeter shadow in the photo inset is the natural evasion of light when cloud cover washed out the sky, and in my dinning room/kitchen feels like winter is outside, and strangely. (If global climate conditions are truly changing, then some aspect of Portland or New York on Maui's atmosphere is a surprise gift, a Nordic overcast charm I don't mind at all.) The wild birds however are relentless in the garden and are frolicking and singing umbrage in the trees with their brood. My Christmas lights are on in the living room, a merino wool blanket on my lap while writing, and reading Dorie's recipe and preparation for bûches de Noël bring back so many good memories of holiday gatherings and gifts giving. Like her, I bake these gifts myself - those missed traditions making ginger shortbread cookies, upside-down glazed fruit cakes, and sweet pretzel with sesame seeds breads - and make boxes out of old food magazine covers and wrap my treats for my dear friends uniquely and classy. Like Dorie, I miss my international friends tremendously, I miss cooking for big celebrations and parties in general, socially the world has changed since 2020, and the yearning to normalize things again is deep.

The deluge at Iao forest this morning was hard pouring as I climbed through the canyon rocks from my waterfalls swim, watching every step around slippery slopes rooted with smashed fallen fruits. (Always outdoors, I carry a camouflaged backpack intentionally heavy with books and river stones in the side pockets for posture support and running stability.) But I kept my sweatshirt inside to keep it dry for when I reach the park, I was cold just with shorts, yet the rain felt special. Roots ecologically established in undisturbed woods protect the mountain from landslides, its earth-ground upheld tight by standing trees. I've always felt safe here in the wild, albeit my city upbringing. Roots protect me. And they do follow me. As far as where I've been.