I just got back from a little trip to California, and Vermont feels different somehow — quiet, in-between. The leaf-peepers have mostly gone, the fiery golds and reds are fading into soft browns, and the mornings carry a sharp edge of frost that crunches underfoot [or, if you’re like me, on your windshield when you’re late for daycare drop-off]. 

It’s not winter yet, but it’s not quite peak fall either. The world feels like it’s holding its breath, suspended between seasons, and I find myself noticing things I might otherwise rush past.

In California, mornings are bright and expansive — sun bouncing off hills, fog rolling in from the coast that you actually have to plan your day around [did you know this was a thing? I sure didn’t], grapes ripening in the warm air.

Back home, the in-between of Vermont fall has a subtler magic.

There’s a hush over the fields, the way a few stubborn leaves cling to branches while the rest scatter across the paths. Light pools differently here, softer and lower in the sky, casting long shadows that make ordinary moments feel sacred.

It made me think about all the “in-between moments” in our lives — the tiny, quiet, almost invisible pieces of family days that are gone before we even realize they exist. A hand brushing a curl aside, the pause before a laugh spills out, a warm cup of [potentially] spiked cider cradled between cold fingers on a frosty morning. 

These moments don’t make it onto social media feeds or into the big event photos, but they’re what make a life feel lived, remembered, and loved.

This in-between space reminds me why I do the work I do: because the fleeting, messy, tender, everyday pieces are worth leaning in for.

The images you end up framing, slipping into albums, or keeping in your heart? They didn’t happen by accident. They happen when someone notices, when someone shows up fully, when someone chooses to capture the quiet, in-between stuff that’s shaping a story, even when you don’t see it [yet].

Being away made me more aware of it — the way life keeps moving, seasons shift, and moments slip past if we don’t learn topay attention. 

So here’s my little October reminder: notice the in-between. Photograph it, hold it in your memory, savor it in real time. The moments that feel small, fleeting, or ordinary? They’re often the ones that end up being the heart of your story.

[This note was written while watching Whitney and Mark’s DWTS performance to Green Day on repeat and pretending I could do that.]

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