36/2025: Seasons at Home

Image © Jose 2025

I am excited to be going home, we have been in this place since January and most of it in the throes of the renovation. This was the first time we were away, and we both really want to go back, which feels like being homesick, a sort of new feeling for me. One of the things I am most looking forward to seeing are changes on the way home, the ocean when crossing the causeway, the garden and land in the back, the trees behind the house. We haven’t been gone for long, so I suspect the changes will not be dramatic, but one of the things I am most looking forward in this house is the change of seasons, the impact that it will have in the house and around it.

I’ve always enjoyed having seasons, marked and vibrant, showing up on time with all the good and bad offerings, and I have the feeling this house is going to be a good place to live and experience all this. We might still have a few surprises, there might be some water leaks, we are counting on the heating working as designed, we are going to change the first floor windows before we get hammered with the real cold weather and snow, but we never know. I already know cleaning that driveway and making sure access to the house is safe is not going to be a picnic, I’m thankful that a friend of a friend returned to Europe and left behind a snowblower that I still need to learn how to operate. But it feels exciting.

Another thing I am looking forward to seeing the impact of seasons is the small beach we walk to, I have just spent a couple of weeks at my beach where I tend to visit only in the summer, the few times I was there in the dead of winter I saw the transformation, the ocean climbing onto the road, the sand blowing and covering different areas and changing the terrain slightly every day, patch of sand by patch of sand. And the wind, the wind blowing cold from the ocean, with the water just below freezing, my Atlantic Ocean. The same ocean I have on the other side where we now live. In this small, protected beach covered with cobblestones, if I was able to see for thousands of miles, straight ahead I could see my beach in Portugal, that is a strong connection between two places I love, the same ocean. I am curious to see how this new beach changes, how high will the water come, where will the cobblestones roll and what scenery will they create, what will it feel to be on those wooden stairs, on the beach in the dead of the Boston winter, we will have snow which is something we don’t have in the beach in Portugal, what will that look like.

When I am driving home, the way there is not that interesting, there is a certain ugliness in a lot of the unkept, abandoned, unplanned and undesigned spaces where human beings live by freewill or are forced to live in, there is no judgment on all the challenges and troubles people have in finding a decent home for them and their families, but it is all very bland. With exceptions, people seem to do what they can with what they are offered, and if you add to this the state of the roads and the madness of traffic, it’s not pretty. But there is a place, almost as I reach the entry of the causeway, where after a number of traffic lights and stop signs, a window to the sea shows up, first a small snapshot at the end of the tunnel of roads, and then it grows, wide, until I am forced to turn right before plunging into the ocean. And it is always glorious, no matter the weather. I started to try and stop the car on the same spot, just before turning, and take a quick photo from inside the car. I went back to look at the photos, and they already show in these last 6 months what I am looking forward to seeing in the next 6 months, the changes in scenery caused by the weather and the seasons. While with it may come some challenges and surprises, while the passing of time brings changes to the world and to me, the idea of seeing the world at work reminding us of our part in it is something that I like. And maybe that’s the point. Just like the trees, the cobblestones, and the ocean, I am also in transition. This house is still becoming my home, and so am I, renovations outside, new routines inside, the slow work of making a life here. Feeling homesick for a place that isn’t fully mine yet is part of it. Watching the seasons shift reminds me that change doesn’t ask for permission, it just happens, and we grow into it.