Summer Lovin'
Summer is here, hot and humid and exasperatingly wet. I don't have the exact stats, but it's rained a million days already, with half the summer to go. In between these strangely angry summer showers, there are days of intense heat and stillness meant to scorch your skin and sap your strength.
You know, the average Gulf Coast summer has arrived.
Nora is a summer child, no doubt. Her favorite things are long walks in the midday sun, splashing in the (life-saving) kiddie pool in the backyard, poking around in the sandbox under the shelter of the ever-present umbrella. On the good days we start on the back porch in the shade of the house and stay there until the heat defeats us and we scurry inside like ants under a magnifying glass.
Last year I resisted, doing my best to hide inside whenever possible and exerting the very accurate "It's too hot" rule as often as possible. I've loosened up this year. Embraced it. I put on light sundresses that barely skim my knees, bare my toes and braid my hair. We linger in the pool and offer up our skin for sun's kisses. Fresh fruit and Popsicles stain our fingers. It's been wonderful.
On our long mornings it seems my little patch of grass we call a backyard comes alive, crickets and cicadas sing vibrant songs, dancing insects darting across the sky. Recently we've had a family of birds move into the bushes the neighbors behind us planted, adding their calls and squawks to the summer symphony. We planted new flowers hoping for color. They're sprouting and looking healthy, but it'll be some time before they bloom.
All of this life and activity makes me feel like I'm creating the sanctuary I want. It's piece by piece, more trial and error than success, but it's happening. This part of Texas has never felt very pretty to me, living in suburbia make it worse, but I can see overcoming it. It's going to be a balance of cultivation and wild growth, but I'm up for the challenge.
This is all just another example of the gifts rearing my sweet girl has given me. I've never celebrated summer, preferring to hide inside and read until my eyes ached. The freedom and laughter went over my head, but this year is giving me new insight. A new appreciation.
It's a good thing.
You know, the average Gulf Coast summer has arrived.
Nora is a summer child, no doubt. Her favorite things are long walks in the midday sun, splashing in the (life-saving) kiddie pool in the backyard, poking around in the sandbox under the shelter of the ever-present umbrella. On the good days we start on the back porch in the shade of the house and stay there until the heat defeats us and we scurry inside like ants under a magnifying glass.
Last year I resisted, doing my best to hide inside whenever possible and exerting the very accurate "It's too hot" rule as often as possible. I've loosened up this year. Embraced it. I put on light sundresses that barely skim my knees, bare my toes and braid my hair. We linger in the pool and offer up our skin for sun's kisses. Fresh fruit and Popsicles stain our fingers. It's been wonderful.
On our long mornings it seems my little patch of grass we call a backyard comes alive, crickets and cicadas sing vibrant songs, dancing insects darting across the sky. Recently we've had a family of birds move into the bushes the neighbors behind us planted, adding their calls and squawks to the summer symphony. We planted new flowers hoping for color. They're sprouting and looking healthy, but it'll be some time before they bloom.
All of this life and activity makes me feel like I'm creating the sanctuary I want. It's piece by piece, more trial and error than success, but it's happening. This part of Texas has never felt very pretty to me, living in suburbia make it worse, but I can see overcoming it. It's going to be a balance of cultivation and wild growth, but I'm up for the challenge.
This is all just another example of the gifts rearing my sweet girl has given me. I've never celebrated summer, preferring to hide inside and read until my eyes ached. The freedom and laughter went over my head, but this year is giving me new insight. A new appreciation.
It's a good thing.
Comments