A guest post by Anna White
This past summer, after traveling north to spend time with relatives in Quebec and explore a little the environs of this year’s Christmas Revels, we headed “down east” to the coast of Maine. Like certain migratory birds and butterflies, we like to go back to the same place each year, camping along the shore and under the stars, as many generations of our family have done. Each year there are places we must visit and activities we must engage in, as is tradition — a certain lake with a raft that we must cast a line and take a dip in, a certain beach of sand made of broken shells and a bog-stained estuary which we must pass the day and cycle of the tides at, a certain cobblestone cove where one can find finely polished stones many colors of the rainbow. These are sacred spaces and rituals. Occasionally new discoveries are made which over the course of a few years turn into new traditions, weaving into the rhythm of our time and space away from home.