The summer solstice brought summer, real summer. 90F summer.
We’re all re-calibrated. The kids nap in the middle of the day and stay awake until 10pm, which feels like an extravagance we can only afford for a few months each year.
We try to get up in the cool mountains as much as possible.
And to water—lakes, creeks, rivers—where we marinate our hot bodies in shivery snowmelt.
The optimist in me is like: wow, summer’s just starting, let’s jump in the river like 73 more times and go camping with all our friends every weekend and ride bikes everywhere and eat insane amounts of garden salads and weep over each ripe strawberry and watch every little mountain flower shuck off its jacket.
And the realist in me is like: June has come and gone in a flash. I know where this summer is headed.
And so, I’m going to scale back the time I spend writing this blog, so I can be here more, in this short Colorado season of summer.
And here more, too, with these little people who are so wonderfully amazing, whose very selves ring the high notes of my heart everyday.
And I want to tell you exactly when I’ll be back here, in this virtual space, like, every Wednesday with your morning coffee, guaranteed. But I also want to turn my own inner boss loose—the one that thinks if I don’t post regularly that you might leave—and give her the summer off. So, we’ll see.
And of course I love this little blog, and not-writing seems as much an option as say, not-breathing. So, we’ll see.
I already have so much more to tell you. Like how Dan’s elk hide got softened by two brothers (who look so much alike that when Rose was two she called Cory “Uncle Daddy”).
Or, how the sugar snap peas are so sweet it’s hard to imagine why anyone invented candy (okay, not that hard).
Or how Rose learned to ride a 2-wheeler and is so proud of herself, though Col will often crinkle up his face somberly and say, “but she still needs to learn a few things, like, about going straight on hills and watching where she’s going.”
Or how I can’t stand how cute the green onions are, waving their grassy adolescent leaves at me.
And the broccoli! Just starting to head up.
Last night I opened Col’s bedroom window and saw Dan, the man I still can’t believe I’m lucky enough to share my life with, shooting his bow between the peach tree and the potato patch, the chickens all gathered at their fence looking on curiously.
So very much to savor.