I live in a ridiculously nice place. Our son had friends over last night to watch Hamilton, and my husband and I didn’t want to eat pizza, which we ordered for them, so we got out of the house for dinner. We went to a little restaurant, Gillie’s, in downtown Blacksburg, and sat at a cafe table outside to dine. The temperature was pleasant, especially for a June evening — warm enough for sandals, short sleeves, and a knee-length skirt, and cool enough to sit outside — we were surrounded by green deciduous trees and bright flowers, town wasn’t crowded, it was easy to park, there were no sirens or loud noises or cars. There were no bugs.
As we ate, we talked about how often we look forward to the future: what we’ll do when we retire, where we’ll travel, where we’ll live. How we want to be close to a beach, but maybe we’d rather live in a city, or maybe we want to be on the Chesapeake, or maybe we want to be nomads. But the thing is, where we are right now is pretty phenomenal. We have four seasons, all of which are the perfect length. We have fresh air, green trees, sun and rain, wind and stillness, some snow in winter but not too much to be a burden. We have amazing hikes in every direction, many of which intersect or go along the Appalachian Trail. We’re constantly bumping up against the AT when we hike. Our little town has charm, and with my renewed interest in photography, it’d be fun to explore it more on foot.
This morning I sat outside with my coffee. I rarely do that; the table on the deck is usually covered in dew, and I have notebooks and pens and other morning accoutrement to carry along with my coffee cup and cereal bowl, which is a lot to transport outside while also trying to open and close the sliding screen door without the cats bolting. But the birds were chirping, the air was cool and fresh, the garden is always a magnet for me, and so I wiped the table and sat outside, filled with appreciation for where we live and the life we have.