This Week at Acorn Hill
August 3-9, 2026
Hello, dear friends.
Monday
A dentist appointment on a Monday morning at 8:00 AM. It’s as fun as it sounds.
Why do dentists always make you feel like a child who’s been caught doing something bad?
I go home and have a bowl of apple and blackberry crumble just to spite him.
Tuesday
Another afternoon at Starbucks with my new favorite chai latte.
I take a sip and have an instant flashback.
It takes me back to when Ger and I were living in San Francisco, where the changing seasons felt almost nonexistent. It was October, and I was desperate for even the smallest taste of autumn. I knew exactly where to go: the Williams Sonoma in Union Square.
The moment I walked through the doors, I was greeted by shelves of burnt-orange ceramic pumpkins and every autumnal delight imaginable, all while palm trees swayed outside. That day they were handing out samples of warm pumpkin spice bread.
It was everything I had been missing.
In that single bite, I finally felt like I’d found the autumn I’d been chasing.
I walked out knowing we belonged back East.
Wednesday
It’s just me, Henry, and the many neighborhood bunnies this morning. The half moon hangs directly above me, and the sky is brushed with soft pink and purple paint strokes. I love this time of day.
I pop on a podcast, and the guest is Nigella Lawson. God, I wish I was as sexy in the kitchen as she is.
Henry and I walk through the little path that connects us to the next neighborhood, and suddenly the sky opens up. The clouds are perfectly positioned, as though they’ve turned into sunbeams.
I turn the corner and see a deer standing in someone’s garden. (I’m hoping Henry doesn’t notice.)
When I return home, I water the garden. The willow bush I was worried about seems to be just about surviving. All of the squash blossoms are open for business.
I stick my nose into one and find two bees inside. I feel as though I’m interrupting something, so I decide to move on quickly.
Thursday
Woke up deciding I needed a haircut right away, as per usual. I made an appointment for 10 AM. Received confirmation that it had moved to 11 AM. No problem.
I show up, the door is locked, and the lights are out. I wait on the bench outside for someone to show up. Five minutes later, I check the confirmation email again.
Ahh. 11 AM tomorrow.
Since I still have some time left on my lunch hour, I decide to make chicken, leek, and potato soup for dinner with the leftovers from our Sunday roast. The chicken stock I made with the bones yesterday will be perfect for it.
I’ll serve it with an Ancient Grain Batard (never heard of it either) and a lovely cheese board with raw honey, sliced pears, a few spreads and jams, dried apricots, a few nuts, Manchego, and French Brie.
As I’m stirring the soup, I put on the kettle and pop the last tea bag from the box into my mug. I love the feeling of using up the box and opening a brand-new one.
The recipe for the soup calls for a bay leaf, but I doubt the bay leaf from 2014 is going to do much. Still, I put it in the pot anyway. Will this teach me to buy fresh bay leaves in the future? I doubt it.
Meanwhile, I hear Henry crunching on something in the living room. I hope it’s a stick he snuck in from outside, but it’s not. I try to wrestle James’s purple colored pencil from his mouth.
There is purple all over the couch, but I don’t have time to clean it up. I have to get back to the soup. The timer is beeping.
Some days you have hours on a Sunday to prepare a lovely meal, and other days you have 30 minutes between meetings.
C’est la vie.
The tea goes cold on the counter.
Friday
My phone reminds me it’s time to prune the lavender. With my snips, I gather a bunch and feel as though I’m no longer in Massachusetts, but in Provence. I just wish it wasn’t too early for a glass of rosé.
I have some extra time this morning, so I sit outside and have my breakfast. I notice a squirrel sitting perfectly still on a stump, like a statue. It only moves to scratch an itch, and then it scurries away.
It’s 10:45 AM and time to go for my haircut. I hope I have the right date this time.
I arrive and am warmly welcomed. A few inches off and I feel like a new woman. I needed to do something to help beat this heat.
After I’m out of the salon, I call my husband to see if he wants to meet at the pub for a celebratory drink for our 16th wedding anniversary. Along with our son, we have the place all to ourselves and reminisce about the spectacular champagne reception we had at the Cliff House Hotel in Ardmore, Ireland, on the terrace overlooking the sea.
Saturday
I dig out a huge clump of oregano to make room for the new raised bed. It grows like a weed, so I’m not worried about it. I am covered in dirt and sweat.
Our drill is so powerful that I know I could do some damage if I’m not careful. There are tools strewn across the ground: levels, shovels, a bag of screws. I always think a project will take less time than it actually does.
Three hours later, three of the six raised beds are officially put together and level.
Sunday
I’ve always been a very determined (and sometimes stubborn) person. It works out great when I’m working on a project because I know I’ll get it done.
I decide to take on the raised beds again this morning. I finish one and decide it’s time to stop.
This is where determination and stubbornness can get a little blurry. I know I could keep going. But I also know I’ll regret it later.
So I put down the drill.
Dinner tonight will be an easy one-pan meal of Italian chicken sausage, peppers, and potatoes.
Until our next cup of tea,
Abby