While others are wrestling with the “Back to School” mania, I’ve decided to just relax and look back over the past months before the memories slip away to a collection of photos in some dusty box or on-line file labeled “Summer, 2010.”
I don’t have a picture of it anywhere but in my mind, but one of those little miracle moments happened in late June as we were driving along a backroad in Indiana at dusk. On either side stretched fields of corn, at that point about as high as a horse’s eye. Heat still shimmered up from the ground, and in and around and among the corn and weeds were fireflies. Hundreds of them. Thousands of them. It was nothing short of spectacular. We actually had to pull over to the side of the road and watch Mother Nature’s light show.
And while I’m on that subject, someone just reminded me that I once called those delightful creatures “lightning bugs.”
Like a mother putting her child to bed, drawing up the covers so the bogey man will be kept at bay, I go out in the evening and pull the net over my tomatoes, cukes, and pumpkin vines so the deer won’t repeat the carnage of a month or so ago.
The family outing over Memorial Day hosted five of our six kids and seven of the thirteen grandkids. It was fun to just play together—baseball, swimming in a kiddie pool, card games on the deck, walks in the park, and a fantastic afternoon cooling off in the Aurora branch of the Chagrin River. Even Baby Kate got a ride in the rock flume.
Several days were hot enough to even convince me to turn on the A/C. I don’t do that easily. I’d rather put up with a little discomfort than feel exactly like the prisoner I am in February.
I was a little late with my blueberry run and was about ready to give up on the bushes with sparse pickings, until a kindly gentleman told me I was in the wrong place and if I moved over a few rows, I’d find a better yield. Thanks, whoever you were.
There’s nothing nice than lingering in bed in the morning watching the birds flit back and forth outside—only to realize that they’re not birds, but bats—and they’re not outside, either. Instant double espresso latte with triple mocha!
I couldn’t wait for my crop of green beans to come in, so I bought some at Marc’s for pickling. Son Joe declares my dilly beans better than any pickle. They have a kick, too, because of the addition of red pepper flakes, along with a big clove of garlic. He’s earned himself a jar. But I’m starting to run out of refrigerator space. Oh, well. Guess I’ll have to start eating them.
I’ve been going to morning deep water watercize classes in Solon in the outside diving pool. It’s kind of a floating gab fest, but it does wake you up and get your muscles moving.
Morning walks in Beartown have yielded several sightings of my buddy, Jim, the blue heron. One day, he let me get within about 20 feet before he took off. I’ve learned to take my camera along. There’s one poor Canada goose who seems to have lost most of one foot. Elizabeth named him “Nub.” Apropos.
Finally got a chance to go to “It’s Still The Jake.” The Tribe lost, unfortunately, but it was a pleasant evening and Dollar Dog Day. I accounted for two of the over 50,000 hot dogs sold.
The long dry spells have meant retention of the awesome chalk drawings the grandkids have done on the driveway.
As of this writing, there are more even more memories ahead: more family gatherings in the offing and more chances to wear capris and sandals and more tomatoes ripening and more sunshine to soak up and more nights with the bedroom deck door open and the sounds of bullfrogs and owls lulling me to sleep.