February is all gray edges and soft light, but you make space in the chill and eventually the laughter creeps in. My daughter, Maddie, slouching like she owns the dock. My wife, Rose, with that little smile she gets when she knows I'm about to over-explain how to brew coffee over a camp stove. Wet planks, layered blankets, enamel mugs warming stiff fingers. This is the kind of morning that smells like pine, rain, and second chances. Wouldn't trade it.