I'm Taking You With Me

Several doors are opening, and I want company.

While the apples bake, I talk about the light that stayed through a dimmer season, the pleasure of having good news to share, and the kind of loyalty I want to carry into whatever comes next. There is a visit with Elias, who gets two notes at the desk in Little Lights and learns what August means by a shelf. There is a cobbler to make at home. And there is an invitation: come along while the story is still happening.

Avery's Stewed Apple Cobbler, with a brown-butter oat topping

For about 4 cups of stewed apples

• 3/4 cup rolled oats
• 1/2 cup flour
• 1/2 cup brown sugar
• 6 tablespoons butter, browned
• 1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
• 1/4 teaspoon salt
• A little vanilla, if you like
• For very loose apples: 1 tablespoon cornstarch in 2 tablespoons cold water

Heat the oven to 375°F. If the apples are swimming, stir in the cornstarch and simmer a minute or two. Brown the butter until it smells toasted and the little solids turn golden, then take it off the heat. Mix the oats, flour, sugar, cinnamon and salt, and stir in the butter until it clumps. Scatter it over the apples in a baking dish, big clumps and all; do not pat it flat. Bake 25 to 35 minutes, until golden and bubbling at the edges. Let it settle before the first spoonful.

If you make it, I would love to hear.

Come In. It's Already Warm., the keeper's book, arrives at Thanksgiving. Signed copies are at averylanemaxwell.com/come-in.

The letters, the books and the rest of the house: averylanemaxwell.com

Written and read by Avery Lane Maxwell. Scored by the house. 

Before my life begins to look different, I want to tell you something. I'm taking you with me. There are several good things happening at once, and before I've worked out the practicalities, I want to turn around and find you. I want to say, come here. Look at this.

Can you believe it? And then, before I have managed to tell the story particularly well, I want to know whether there is room for you to come along. There are doors opening. There are conversations I am still smiling about. There is a future beginning to take shape, and I keep wandering into it while I am supposed to be finishing something else.

I am happy. Really, properly happy. But I want to be careful with something. I know what it feels like to have your own light grow difficult to see. Mine was dimmed for a while.