It almost hit 90 today in Atlanta. I love summer. It is hotter than habeneros once July and August roll around but I wouldn't have it any other way.
I spent a chunk of the day trying to tame a little scrubby, wild patch of my small yard. I'm holding out hope that I will one day have a little herb garden. I can't grow the vegetables and berries the kids and I would like to see. Tried that, the squirrels carried it all off, every last tomato. Even though I know that they need to eat, too, it still breaks my heart and makes me want to get a bb gun. Seems like the furry little jerks could share some with the rest of us. In any case, I'm not doing that again. I'll take my chance this year with rosemary and sweet mint. The kids planted basil and parsley seeds in pots and we'll plant out whatever pops up in some big bright planters I found. And a habenero plant for my sweetheart who loves peppers. The squirrels won't dare.
I love summer. I love getting dirty and sweaty in the yard. I love watching things grow and bloom, including my children, who, with their father's skin tone, get brown as breadcrusts despite constant slathering of spf 30. The school year has opportunities for learning and expanding, but summer is different. As a child, the things I learned in the summer were different from what I learned during the rest of the year: how to ride a horse, how to use a circular saw, how to skip a stone on a lake, how to waterski, how to kick a ball, how to swim. I grew in different ways in the summer.
I still do. This sabbatical is a perfect example. Last year, I saw Rio de Janiero and forged some great relationships. This year I'm remembering how to photograph things. I'm teaching my kids how to swim and kick a ball and plant things (but not how to use a circular saw... just yet). It is good an holy time, slow, long, extended holy time.
I love summer.
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