Dearest Reader,
If this magazine were a home, this letter would be the front door. If The Woodlands were a body, our pages fold outward like open arms to you. Please, come in, let us hold you, stay awhile.
The Woodlands is a house of homebodies—through this magazine we’ve found reprieve, safety, a space to retreat within ourselves, nurture our minds and bodies, then flourish through the pages and stories.
But like any good house, The Woodlands is meant to outlast its inhabitants, who will eventually grow too big to remain within its walls. Those of us who built this home from the ground up will be handing the keys off to new tenants: our wonderful editorial team, our writers, and you, dear reader. Since we launched our first issue a year ago, you’ve moved in, found the creaks in the floorboards, let the couches mold to your body. We know this home is in good hands.
But with moving and change also comes disruption and instability. Safe places can so quickly become sources of insecurity, self-consciousness, hurt. Suddenly, the world shifts, and we feel much less secure in our homes and bodies than we’d like to.
The word “homebody” tastes like comfort. Like sipping warm tea, burrowed in a thick blanket, watching the rain, wood beams creaking from gusty winds, a kitchen table. Why, then, do the stories in this issue feel ruled by instability, uncertainty, and loss? Underneath the warmth and coziness of homebody is the truth of having a home, of living in a body—the discomfort, change, alienation, growing pains. Sometimes when we homebodies retreat into ourselves and the places we trust, we can find something unsettling.
In this issue we go from the cushioned diner booths of New Jersey to the white-washed mountains of Oregon; we will take your hand and ask you to wade into the water with us, face illness, scars, anxiety, prayer, your own face in the mirror. You’ll step into the realities of losing home in a choose-your-own-adventure story, turn to poetry that stories the trees of Philadelphia, and grapple with a fractured Russian identity.
To our sweet writers—Arina, Delaney, Evie, Hannah, Lori, Mya, Rachel, Rosamund—thank you for sharing your stories. They are the furniture that make this house a home. To Asher, our brilliant cover artist, thank you for offering such a striking facade to welcome everyone into this issue.
We also thank all the friends of The Woodlands whose financial contributions allow us to pay our writers and artists. Our “super friends” and “family” are listed on the adjacent page in our table of contents, and other friends are listed on our website. Thank you for believing in the work we do—for pitching in to keep this home standing and our bodies nourished.
As many of us move out and leave this home, we make space for new people to move in, replace the floors, add fresh coats of paint. The Woodlands is a haven for our fellow and future homebodies—tell your stories here, plaster them on our walls, hang them for all to see. Make this place beautiful.
Thank you for being here with us. Take a seat, let your body still. Make yourself at home. It’s yours, after all.
Love,
The Woodlands Editorial Team
The Woodlands 