April Wool
A field note from Easter morning in the Keweenaw
Welcome to the Michelle Seguin MD newsletter! I’m Dr. Michelle, and I’m so glad you’re here. This week: a field note from Easter morning in the Keweenaw, an introduction to our April Cookbook Club selection, and a letter from a reader that made my whole week.
Hello friends, and happy Easter to those celebrating,
Easter morning in the Keweenaw, and we woke to three inches of fresh snowfall. I spent the first part of this morning on the porch with a cup of tea, which is where today’s field note comes from. Porch sits have become one of my most reliable nervous system practices. It costs nothing, it requires almost nothing, and yet it changes the whole outlook of a day. I noticed that the most read part of last month’s A Piece of My Mind newsletter was the nervous system training I mentioned, which tells me this is on a lot of our minds right now. Nature and a blank page have never once failed me here.
With gratitude,
Dr. Michelle
I have been keeping seasonal field notes for a few years now, brief entries from a specific place and moment. Today's comes from the porch.
April 5th - Temperature: Rising to 35°F. Low level clouds making way for bluebird skies. Winds out of the northwest at 17 mph.
Sunshine and fresh air much welcomed after a four-day streak of freezing rain, sleet, and snow mix. We woke to a blanket of fresh snow covering everything, 3-4 inches after a week of ice and mud. Easter morning, and winter isn’t quite finished with us yet.
I sat on the porch with a cup of tea wearing my favorite gray wool sweater, wool blanket on my lap. Yes, winter wool season extends into April for life in a boreal forest. Wool is the traditional gift for seventh wedding anniversaries and happens to make a great Christmas gift for a 40th year, too.
The stand of red pines on the ridgeline swaying in the wind as if to wave hello. Northwest wind blowing high in the trees, undoubtedly off Lake Superior just a few miles away. The house blocks this wind with its south-facing porch exposure. One of those things where it can be seen but not felt. Other times things can be felt but not seen. Both are true.
By the time I reached the bottom of my mug, chickadees were flitting about and snow melt began dripping off the roof. Spring arriving in small increments, measured in birdsong and water running where snow and ice had been.
Who I’m becoming: Someone learning to appreciate April wool, to sit still long enough to watch pine trees wave, to trust that things can be true even when you can’t feel them directly.
Your votes are in, and we are spending April with Julia Turshen’s What Goes with What. A recovering perfectionist and a “home cook writing for other home cooks”, Julia's premise is simple and somewhat radical: that if you understand how ingredients and techniques work together, you no longer need a recipe to feed yourself and the people you love well. Twenty charts lay out the building blocks of everyday cooking, not as rules to follow but as a way of thinking to internalize and then let go of. Unfussy, adaptable, designed for real kitchens and real days. This month we are cooking from a book that understands something this community knows well: that nourishing people is daily, generous labor, and that the more confident and at ease we feel in the kitchen, the more freely that nourishment can flow.
Here’s what we’ll be cooking from in April:
April 2026
Cookbook: What Goes with What by Julia Turshen
If you’re new to the cookbook club, you can learn more about how it works and browse our full directory of past books and features here. Whether you cook along each month or simply read for inspiration, you are warmly welcome at the table.
Letters from You
One of my favorite parts of writing this newsletter is what comes back to me. Recently I received a handmade card in the mail from Ann, a longtime reader, friend, and artist who attended the opening of Emily Lanctot’s Salaiset Ruokaohjeet exhibit at the Finlandia Gallery, which I wrote about last month. Inspired by the show, Ann and a group of women organized their own gathering around the same idea: a potluck where each person painted their dish-to-pass alongside its recipe. I love everything about this. That a painting of a coffee cake recipe sparked an evening of cooking and making and gathering around a table together. That is exactly the kind of ripple this work hopes to send out. Food is a conduit for connection.
Thank you, Ann, for making beautiful things and for sending them out into the world.
Do you have something to share? A recipe that stopped you, a meal you made for someone you love, a moment of noticing from your own kitchen or garden? Hit reply. I read every message.
Thank you for being here on this snowy Easter Sunday. Wishing you a warm and restful day, wherever you are.
With love and care,
Dr. Michelle
P.S. If today's letter resonated with you, I would be so grateful if you shared it with someone who might appreciate it. And if you refer a friend who subscribes, you will earn rewards as a thank you from me.
Here are my most recent Substack sharings:
Hey — I came across your writing and really liked how you think.
I’m exploring something similar from a different angle — writing about human behavior through a system design lens (like debugging internal patterns).
Just started publishing on Substack. If you ever get a moment to read, I’d genuinely value your perspective.
Also happy to support your work — feels like there’s an interesting overlap here.