The other weekend I went “home” to Maine for the wedding of one of my best friends from childhood and to celebrate my birthday with my parents. Like most people I have a complicated relationship with home. My current home is in Brooklyn, New York and probably will be for the foreseeable future (unless someone wants to offer me a job in Paris or London, hint hint). But usually when I refer to “home,” I mean Maine, where I grew up and where my parents still live. When I was a teenager I couldn’t wait to get out of Maine and transform myself into a bohemian urbanite. I am the first to admit I had romantic ideas about what life in the city would be like, and not a lot of idea about the heartache and hard work it would actually entail. As the years that I have lived in New York City go by I become more comfortable with where I am from, but I also don’t feel like I need to flaunt it. Accepting my home is also about accepting who I am and how it has shaped me.

Dressed up for the wedding at Hawk Ridge Farm. Brooklyn Industries dress and sweater, American Apparel tights, Robert Clergerie shoes

After the ceremony the bride and groom lead us through the pasture to the reception.Of course, being Maine the weather was something to contend with, but we're used to it.

Nola Springtime bag by Les Compasantes (a birthday present to myself), American Apparel marine sweater, Ben Simon sneakers

Hanging out with Sonny. I borrowed my Dad's jacket.

On top of Bradbury Mountain, my favorite place to walk when I'm home.

Maine springtime "color block."