![Yesterday was the best day since our move. Christian had his first exam—Christ in the Old Testament—and made an A! He was so nervous, taking a test, since the last few years in corporate life and before that art school didn’t seek to sharpen his testing-taking skills. Afterward, we went exploring to celebrate—north this time—to Crane Beach in Ipswitch. The fact that we even live in a place with a name like Ipswitch is surreal. The homes there are sided with dark wood and aged barns linger behind them. The trees in the yards are bare and lonely, molted bark with streaks of white. They share the same coloring as the winter birds. We have been to Crane Beach once before, when we visited the campus in September. It was late when we arrived, and we stumbled to the shore under the cloak of night. We were unable to fathom the beauty surrounding us back then. Yesterday, when we climbed the boardwalk from the parking lot that tumbled us onto the beach, I literally exclaimed, “My heart!” clutching it for fear that it might stop. Crane Beach is lovelier than words. It boasts four miles of New England coastline and more notably, white sand trails winding through well-preserved dunes topped with yellow grasses. The January cold made the landscape pale: Pale fields of gold and pale pink skies; the ocean a muted gray. We trudged through the trails in our boots, Christian’s overcoat a black spot rising and falling over the dunes.The wind stood still in the valleys, whispering as if in a Cary Fukunaga film. The ponds and tide pools were frozen. No one was there. The dunes led us to the lower end of the preserve and we followed the ocean back. Even the ripples in the sand were untouched. The setting sun illuminated their crevices. “I feel like I’m in the crease of God’s hand,” I told Christian. I have seen some beautiful landscapes in my young life: I’ve watched glaciers calving in Alaska and have scuba dived on the second largest coral reef one hundred feet below the ocean’s surface. I lived in a tree house in Costa Rica and have scaled the tallest mountain in South Korea (which from the pinnacle overlooks North Korea). This beach in Ipswitch, Massachusetts rivals the best of scenes. As we walked on the boardwalk towards the car, I looked back for one last view of the ocean and gasped. A black horse and rider were galloping on the lip of the water. “How jealous are you of that horse right now?” Christian and I asked each other. Very. [This photo is merely borrowed—we didn’t bring our camera yesterday, a total shame. We plan to go back this weekend to claim photos of our own.]The good day didn’t end there. We explored the town of Ipswitch, and in Rowling, the next city north, found a barbeque joint called “The American.” Christian practically swerved into the parking lot and we gorged ourselves on pulled pork and tangy chipotle sauce. From the smoker to the paper towel dispenser under the table, The American was the real deal—a little slice of home in New England.](http://29.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lxp2gvZMnx1qbwv2co1_250.png)
Neighbors.
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Someday this will be home. The count down begins (t-minus 3).
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Our pint-sized neighbor, Sam, came over to check out the closet studio.
![Yesterday was the best day since our move. Christian had his first exam—Christ in the Old Testament—and made an A! He was so nervous, taking a test, since the last few years in corporate life and before that art school didn’t seek to sharpen his testing-taking skills. Afterward, we went exploring to celebrate—north this time—to Crane Beach in Ipswitch. The fact that we even live in a place with a name like Ipswitch is surreal. The homes there are sided with dark wood and aged barns linger behind them. The trees in the yards are bare and lonely, molted bark with streaks of white. They share the same coloring as the winter birds. We have been to Crane Beach once before, when we visited the campus in September. It was late when we arrived, and we stumbled to the shore under the cloak of night. We were unable to fathom the beauty surrounding us back then. Yesterday, when we climbed the boardwalk from the parking lot that tumbled us onto the beach, I literally exclaimed, “My heart!” clutching it for fear that it might stop. Crane Beach is lovelier than words. It boasts four miles of New England coastline and more notably, white sand trails winding through well-preserved dunes topped with yellow grasses. The January cold made the landscape pale: Pale fields of gold and pale pink skies; the ocean a muted gray. We trudged through the trails in our boots, Christian’s overcoat a black spot rising and falling over the dunes.The wind stood still in the valleys, whispering as if in a Cary Fukunaga film. The ponds and tide pools were frozen. No one was there. The dunes led us to the lower end of the preserve and we followed the ocean back. Even the ripples in the sand were untouched. The setting sun illuminated their crevices. “I feel like I’m in the crease of God’s hand,” I told Christian. I have seen some beautiful landscapes in my young life: I’ve watched glaciers calving in Alaska and have scuba dived on the second largest coral reef one hundred feet below the ocean’s surface. I lived in a tree house in Costa Rica and have scaled the tallest mountain in South Korea (which from the pinnacle overlooks North Korea). This beach in Ipswitch, Massachusetts rivals the best of scenes. As we walked on the boardwalk towards the car, I looked back for one last view of the ocean and gasped. A black horse and rider were galloping on the lip of the water. “How jealous are you of that horse right now?” Christian and I asked each other. Very. [This photo is merely borrowed—we didn’t bring our camera yesterday, a total shame. We plan to go back this weekend to claim photos of our own.]The good day didn’t end there. We explored the town of Ipswitch, and in Rowling, the next city north, found a barbeque joint called “The American.” Christian practically swerved into the parking lot and we gorged ourselves on pulled pork and tangy chipotle sauce. From the smoker to the paper towel dispenser under the table, The American was the real deal—a little slice of home in New England.](http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lxp2gvZMnx1qbwv2co1_500.png)
![Yesterday was the best day since our move. Christian had his first exam—Christ in the Old Testament—and made an A! He was so nervous, taking a test, since the last few years in corporate life and before that art school didn’t seek to sharpen his testing-taking skills. Afterward, we went exploring to celebrate—north this time—to Crane Beach in Ipswitch. The fact that we even live in a place with a name like Ipswitch is surreal. The homes there are sided with dark wood and aged barns linger behind them. The trees in the yards are bare and lonely, molted bark with streaks of white. They share the same coloring as the winter birds. We have been to Crane Beach once before, when we visited the campus in September. It was late when we arrived, and we stumbled to the shore under the cloak of night. We were unable to fathom the beauty surrounding us back then. Yesterday, when we climbed the boardwalk from the parking lot that tumbled us onto the beach, I literally exclaimed, “My heart!” clutching it for fear that it might stop. Crane Beach is lovelier than words. It boasts four miles of New England coastline and more notably, white sand trails winding through well-preserved dunes topped with yellow grasses. The January cold made the landscape pale: Pale fields of gold and pale pink skies; the ocean a muted gray. We trudged through the trails in our boots, Christian’s overcoat a black spot rising and falling over the dunes.The wind stood still in the valleys, whispering as if in a Cary Fukunaga film. The ponds and tide pools were frozen. No one was there. The dunes led us to the lower end of the preserve and we followed the ocean back. Even the ripples in the sand were untouched. The setting sun illuminated their crevices. “I feel like I’m in the crease of God’s hand,” I told Christian. I have seen some beautiful landscapes in my young life: I’ve watched glaciers calving in Alaska and have scuba dived on the second largest coral reef one hundred feet below the ocean’s surface. I lived in a tree house in Costa Rica and have scaled the tallest mountain in South Korea (which from the pinnacle overlooks North Korea). This beach in Ipswitch, Massachusetts rivals the best of scenes. As we walked on the boardwalk towards the car, I looked back for one last view of the ocean and gasped. A black horse and rider were galloping on the lip of the water. “How jealous are you of that horse right now?” Christian and I asked each other. Very. [This photo is merely borrowed—we didn’t bring our camera yesterday, a total shame. We plan to go back this weekend to claim photos of our own.]The good day didn’t end there. We explored the town of Ipswitch, and in Rowling, the next city north, found a barbeque joint called “The American.” Christian practically swerved into the parking lot and we gorged ourselves on pulled pork and tangy chipotle sauce. From the smoker to the paper towel dispenser under the table, The American was the real deal—a little slice of home in New England.](http://www.tumblr.com/photo/1280/thehaberkerns/15726305371/1/tumblr_lxp2gvZMnx1qbwv2c)
Yesterday was the best day since our move. Christian had his first exam—Christ in the Old Testament—and made an A! He was so nervous, taking a test, since the last few years in corporate life and before that art school didn’t seek to sharpen his testing-taking skills. Afterward, we went exploring to celebrate—north this time—to Crane Beach in Ipswitch.
The fact that we even live in a place with a name like Ipswitch is surreal. The homes there are sided with dark wood and aged barns linger behind them. The trees in the yards are bare and lonely, molted bark with streaks of white. They share the same coloring as the winter birds.
We have been to Crane Beach once before, when we visited the campus in September. It was late when we arrived, and we stumbled to the shore under the cloak of night. We were unable to fathom the beauty surrounding us back then. Yesterday, when we climbed the boardwalk from the parking lot that tumbled us onto the beach, I literally exclaimed, “My heart!” clutching it for fear that it might stop.
Crane Beach is lovelier than words. It boasts four miles of New England coastline and more notably, white sand trails winding through well-preserved dunes topped with yellow grasses. The January cold made the landscape pale: Pale fields of gold and pale pink skies; the ocean a muted gray. We trudged through the trails in our boots, Christian’s overcoat a black spot rising and falling over the dunes.
The wind stood still in the valleys, whispering as if in a Cary Fukunaga film. The ponds and tide pools were frozen. No one was there. The dunes led us to the lower end of the preserve and we followed the ocean back. Even the ripples in the sand were untouched. The setting sun illuminated their crevices. “I feel like I’m in the crease of God’s hand,” I told Christian.
I have seen some beautiful landscapes in my young life: I’ve watched glaciers calving in Alaska and have scuba dived on the second largest coral reef one hundred feet below the ocean’s surface. I lived in a tree house in Costa Rica and have scaled the tallest mountain in South Korea (which from the pinnacle overlooks North Korea). This beach in Ipswitch, Massachusetts rivals the best of scenes.
As we walked on the boardwalk towards the car, I looked back for one last view of the ocean and gasped. A black horse and rider were galloping on the lip of the water. “How jealous are you of that horse right now?” Christian and I asked each other. Very.
[This photo is merely borrowed—we didn’t bring our camera yesterday, a total shame. We plan to go back this weekend to claim photos of our own.]
The good day didn’t end there. We explored the town of Ipswitch, and in Rowling, the next city north, found a barbeque joint called “The American.” Christian practically swerved into the parking lot and we gorged ourselves on pulled pork and tangy chipotle sauce. From the smoker to the paper towel dispenser under the table, The American was the real deal—a little slice of home in New England.
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My love at Singing Beach in Manchester-by-the-Sea, a twelve minute jaunt from our apartment.
New geography calls for new boots. The horizon is pink and lovely.
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Our seminary family photo. Those words strung together sound so new to me. I never pictured us at seminary, but I’m thankful that my plans pale in comparison to the Narrator of our story.
First meal in the new apartment: butternut squash & apple soup with a fennel and white bean frittata.
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Morning tea overlooking the woods (quite the contrast from our previous view of a concrete jungle).
