This year we’ve had a lot fewer writers stay with us, as you may have guessed. In fact, we’ve had as few guests as ever before since Steve and I started living in this special place. At first we were guests ourselves (and in ways we will always feel like guests here ourselves) and then with time we became codirectors and owners. But in truth, we will never own this place (literally and figuratively), but instead remain residents, permanent in relation to the many hundreds, maybe even a couple 
thousand guests who have been among us. So when weeklong residents did come to stay, it was something extraordinary. I actually like to think of the time Covid broke out, because the house was full of writers: Kat and Duncan were with us for almost two weeks as the virus was spreading and we went into lockdown. It felt like being in a protective hub together, shielded from the outside world and fortifying ourselves by drinking lots of tea made from artist’s conk that we found out in the woods. As always, Joseph was pivotal in the foraging excursions. Who needed grocery stores if fiddleheads and pine tips were in our backyard? Now as 2020 turns in, we’re back to buying most of our produce, but we’ve become more considerate, more selective, and more prudent at times. Local fish, grass-fed beef and seasonal vegetables from small farms sustain us. And even now, in December, we can eat salads from the garden: arugula, mizuna, Swiss chard and kale, not to forget nasturtiums and the tips of fava bean leaves. Soon the miner’s lettuce will grow on unmoved laws everywhere.