The Architect's Daughter
My parents are up at our house in Maine at the moment, battening down the hatches for the impending blizzard. But three feet of snow won't stop my dad. His profound yearning to live a romantic, whimsical, poetic life pushes and pulls him so strongly that he will dredge through anything to experience the island's endless beauty.
Right now, he's probably hiking along the coast, collecting wild berries for his homemade cobbler. Or maybe he's leaning over the dock precariously, searching for mussels in the freezing Atlantic waters (where, deep beneath the surface lie several pairs of fallen eyeglasses from past failed attempts).
He could be up on the covered porch, wrapped in a flannel blanket, listening to Whiskeytown while he watercolors Old Harbor. Then again, he could be crouched in the teeny tiny powder bathroom, painting little dragonflies and stick bugs on the green leaves of the old wallpaper.
Wherever he is, he's building a beautiful life. He can't help himself. He's an architect. That's what he does; build beautiful things.
And as this architect's daughter, my life is brimming with the results of his efforts.
This blog will offer just a small glimpse into how being The Architect's Daughter has shaped me into who I am today. From our travels as a family, to my cherished collection of watercolors — my dad's undying passion for living a well-designed, beautiful life has always been my biggest inspiration.
Go ahead and venture out into that blizzard in search of life's little beauties, Dad, but please — wear a coat.
Learn more about my architect dad here.