Tag: Summer

What Did I DO? My Summer Report

Unlike winter’s long dreary hold, summer always seems to fly by. The end of the season no longer includes back-to-school energy with all the excitement and stress. In those days, summer break was always a mixed bag so I wasn’t always sad to see the end of it. When my daughter was young, it could be challenging to figure out affordable camps and care that covered life as a single working mom with a limited amount of time off from work.

Now I look back on the hot months of this year where nothing and nobody but me decided on my schedule and think: what did I do again? A question I often field from others now that I no longer work is: What do you do now? I should make notes because the days and weeks look blurry when I look back. I like to think that’s because I live in the present rather than fret about the past or the future. Thinking that makes me feel more evolved rather than doddery and old.

The season of summer seems to have changed a bit. Or maybe it’s me. But doesn’t the earth feel warmer and the blaze of the sun almost unbearable? I can’t imagine actually sunbathing. Or maybe it is another sign of my age that I shy away from being out in the scorching heat. Like a farmer, I wake early and step into the garden with my tea to assess the growth or, like the other day, the damage. The joy I felt in a recently planted redbud tree seedling was swallowed by the heartbreak of finding it almost snapped in half, its heart shaped leaves and tender branches eaten by rabbit or ground hog, I suspect. Ever-the-optimist I wrapped the damage with medical tape and placed netting around it to ward off any more critters. Time will tell but it may be too late. I’ll let you know. 

In other garden news, I transplanted a fig tree I’ve had in a pot for years with nary a fig to show for it. I celebrated every leaf because new growth was so sparse. What was I doing wrong? Along with the never blossoming pomegranate tree and all the house plants, I always moved the fig inside with the frost. This summer, I liberated fig from its beautiful but now obviously too small pot and put it into the ground. It almost said ‘ah!’ in relief. Fig is now thriving. I can no longer count the leaves and new sprouts are appearing besides the lone stem I’d babied for years. It just wanted out, to literally spread its roots. No figs yet but it’s looking more hopeful. That’s all I need – a little hope. 

The serviceberry tree freebie I received as part of a greening program in my city has grown a few feet since it was planted last summer. I miss the shade of the oak tree I had to take down last year. My handyman split and chopped it to perfect size and burning it kept me warm all last winter. I have a bit left and will once again thank each log before loading it into the stove. 

While I miss the oak I welcome the serviceberry and the sunny space I now have for a perennial garden. Flowers never grew out front before but now there’s plenty of light. There was only a small patch of daylillies, iris and ivy growing around the bird bath and in winter, the bird feeder. This summer I marked out a larger space using oak branches, smothered the grass with newspaper, soil and wood chips and planted more flowering shrubs and plants. Like everything else I do, it’s a little slapdash and improvised as I tackle it in sections, but it’s looking good.

This is some of what I did this summer. 

And I did my laundry and dried it on the clothesline. Washing in summer is one of my favorite things and again, like a farmer, I watch the weather to time it right. I haul the basket of wet clothes out of the basement to the porch from where I peg each sheet and shirt to swing in the breeze and sun. With these shorter days I must start earlier to capture the heat of the day. Yes, my electric bill is low.

The passing of all the seasons for me is now primarily aligned with nature so I follow the light, flowers, and plants of the season. I’m sad to see summer go but glad to reclaim the mid-day hours as it cools off again. And so the planet spins and time passes.

Missing the Cicadas

Have you noticed the absence of cicadas this year? I’ve found a few mummified bug-body casings but have missed their crazy, almost hysterical noise. Where are they? The grind of these summer insects is like a summer soundtrack to me. It seems like their volume increases with the heat of the sun. But this year, while there have been plenty of blazing days, other than an occasional cicada buzz, it’s been silent. Nothing like the raucousness of past summers. Are they missing everywhere? I walk at the beach, visit other friends’ yards and don’t hear them. I guess summer will be closing out without a choral farewell.

I did a computer search: ‘Where are the cicadas this year 2026’ and turned up all sorts of sites dedicated to cicadas. I love how some humans become obsessed with things like cicadas, study them, maybe they even get a PHD in cicadas. My interest is just a passing one, but I am grateful for dedicated people more obsessed than me who then share their knowledge on sites we can easily access. 

Turns out, cicadas, like locusts, have cycles. Thirteen years for cicadas. The ones I heard this summer are called ‘stragglers’. And even their emergence can be predicted – these ones that miss the schedule and emerge when they’re not supposed to. That’s who I’ve been hearing – stragglers. I love them even more now, those little rebels turning up when they’re not supposed to. By the way, we can report on them to help with mapping. If you’re curious, check out this site: Cicada Safari. This is where I learned that – “Our next major emergence of the periodical cicadas will start in late April and early May 2027, when the 13-year Brood XXII will emerge.”

Like most cicadas, I seem to  have gone underground this summer. I often find myself hiding from the heat and sun. Perhaps because I no longer work so being outdoors is available to me 7 days a week, Yet I don’t feel compelled to get outside, even to kayak. I did not pay for a rack at the beach this year so I am not worried about getting my money’s worth. My plastic boat mostly gathers dust in the garage. Don’t get me wrong – I still love summer and kayaking, I’ve just been lazy and not loving the heat. Do you?

I get up early and do things while it’s cooler. My home and community garden plots appreciate early morning visits and I like how my feet get wet in the morning dew. I also go walking in the evening. It is lovely at the beach. The crowds have mostly cleared out by then. That is except for families so large they need to drag over extra tables. It looks like they’ve been there all day – someone’s napping in a hammock tied between two trees, shivering toddlers swaddled in towels after splashing in the Sound. Always, delicious smelling smoke fills the air from barbecues. They’re still there when the sun is down and the beach lights start to come on. 

I sit on my porch a lot – reading, napping, chatting with friends. The breeze in the front of the house is usually better, but right now, I’m sitting in the back with an umbrella casting shade onto the table where I write. These days I’m barefoot almost all the time, wandering inside and outside the house, the screen door slamming behind me. This afternoon, there are no biting bugs. Not yet – and that seems miraculous. Bees and a few monarch butterflies float by, hovering briefly over the two flowering bushes that frame this little deck. In the distance, I hear the complaint of a bluejay, the yap of a dog along with the constant traffic hum. The highway noise I could do without but otherwise, I like these summer sounds. It’s all kind of perfect. Except for the missing cicadas. I will be listening hard to welcome Brood XXII next year.

How’s your summer been?

Green Days

Rainy days ruined barbecue plans for the holiday weekend but brought on an explosion of green. We needed that rain. From my windows, gaps of space that only a week ago framed a glimpse of houses and yards have filled with fresh shades of green. The leaves have fully emerged. Driving the winding roads in morning rain, where before I could look through the woods at tree trunks and rocks, I now see only green. 

I savored the long spring we experienced this year after the long, tough winter in the Northeast. Cherry, dogwood and other blossoms hung on much longer than without the quick, almost overnight thermostat rise we have become accustomed to in recent years. For us gardeners, when to plant tenders like tomato plants became a gamble. During one odd hot day I did the seasonal switch of clothes and curtains, turning my cozy living room into a lighter, airier space. Then the temperatures dropped again and I was digging out my too hastily packed sweaters. This past cold rainy weekend I thought hard about throwing the last of the firewood on my porch into the cleaned out woodstove. I resisted, instead, using blankets while I watched television. 

The rains have left and the sun is shining and summer has moved in. I’ve mowed the lawn twice so far and the hedge is already growing wild. The first of the peonies grace my table.

I love this time of year. My whole body relaxes, even though my chores have increased. Besides the lawn to mow, the hedge to clip, there are an abundance of weeds to pull. Summer furniture to retrieve from the garage. While I write this inside, soon, most of my life will be lived outside – puttering in the garden or sitting on the back or front porch. 

I have a good life. I am cognizant that the number of green springs I will get to see is not infinite and because of my age, almost countable. Maybe 20? That’s if I’m lucky. And I mean that from both sides. I’m not interested in living forever and 87 sounds like more than enough to me right about now. Thus, the greening of spring is glorious to watch. The softening of branches of a wood where all winter long there have only been angles and earth colors. Then comes the rains followed by heat, blue sky and sun and SHAZAM! like magic – summer greens are dense. And comforting – like being enveloped in a fertile embrace. 

I check my gardens regularly for new sprouts. At home I have planted flower seeds in dirt patches hoping they’re not appealing to my resident rabbits, squirrels and at least one – likely more, voracious groundhog. In my community garden plot up on the hill in the city I live in, I planted leeks between the autumn sowed garlic. I separated the tiny strands clustered together in a clump in a small pot, and carefully placed each one in a deep hole I’d dug between the garlic stalks. And then I watered them. One doesn’t fill the holes with dirt following planting, you just let the dirt find its way around each shoot as you water. 

Another plot is full of lettuce I planted in early April while the days were still bitter. I can see the welcoming splotches of green as I trudge across the field to my plot. I’ll pick some leaves for a salad later, maybe some to share with friends. And so this season of bountiful green begins.

On the Water Again

Freckled legs, thrift-shop crocs and my new ride.

I arrived at the beach just after 9:30 AM, determined to get out on the water before the holiday weekend boaters took over. Ten minutes after leaving the house, I pulled into a spot close to the boat launch — rolled my kayak down off the car, slung it over my shoulder by the seat strap and teetered down to the water. High tide was around 7 so the water was still close enough that I didn’t have to navigate too many slippery rocks. Wading into the water with my boat beside me, I slid aboard, scooted against the back rest and began paddling towards the Norwalk islands, grinning.

Twenty minutes from my door: heaven.

It’s been 2 summers since I’ve been out paddling and I refused to make this a 3rd. Fairly priced kayaks are the first thing to go at tag sales and last year, I never scored one. It didn’t help that I wanted something very specific. I am not a confident water person and had gotten used to the impossible-to-tip-over ocean kayak I’d paddled with my ex. Last year I searched tag sales, Craig’s List and asked friends – to no avail. This year, riding the wave of excitement and satisfaction and yes, financial freedom of Molly being done with college, I went to Dick’s Sporting Goods. For just over $300 for kayak, oar, jacket and straps to tie the thing down on top of my Subaru. David, our salesperson, was a prince – guiding me towards the right boat, attaching foam to the rack on the top of my car and showing me how to attach it tight.

My present to myself for Molly’s graduation.

The first few times out, I loaded up with Molly who thoughtfully stood by trying not to help. I wanted to know I could wrestle the thing myself. Finally, she couldn’t bear to see me struggle and with a flip of an arm, threw the boat up on my car. While she’s around, I’ll welcome that help. But this morning, I did it myself from start to finish. I doubt it looked pretty, but damn it, I did it.

I swam here. Briefly. The water is cold.

And this is where I went. I floated, I paddled, I watched the birds, telling them how lovely they were. It’s cooler out there with a sweet breeze easing the heat of the sun. Pulling up to a spit of land that disappears at high tide, I pulled the kayak up and swam, marveling that this sweet beach was all mine. I wonder how I let 2 years pass without this dreamy experience so close to home!

A spit of beach that disappears and appears with the tides.

On my first solo venture out, I alternately felt thrilled and terrified. Nervous that no one was behind me navigating, paddling when I got tired. If I go under, it’s only me and my fierce whistle! But even as huge motorboats bore down on me, I smiled like a buddha. On my own, blissful with the birds skimming across the rolling waves, the odd splash of a fish and yes, the roaring motors of boats. In fact, once I think they see me and will probably not mow me down, I love rolling in the heaving wakes they leave. And I wave, imagining they must envy me – moving so sleekly along, quietly moving towards the egrets in the tall grass, so very happy in my solitude. I would.

Into Every Life Some Rain Must Fall

blue skies

Night is the only time the sun stops shining here in Connecticut. Summer has been perfect – unless you’re a plant or a reservoir.

We need rain. Leaves rustle too crisply in the smoke scented breeze. I fill the bird bath twice in a day.

I’ve had a longtime crush on California – imagining myself living where days are mostly bright and Winter means wearing a sweater. But these relentlessly dry days make me think about the long drought out West and I’m re-evaluating my fantasy. How terrible to live under threat of fire the likes of now in California, Washington and beyond.

No one has told us to curb our usage around here and I’ve watered the Peach trees and Hydrangea bushes to keep them alive – although this one may not make it.

hydrangea

For no particular reason, I’ve sacrificed this pot of Pansies and this Petunia.

petunia and pansy

I’ve ignored the plants out front – too far to drag the hose and anyway, the earth is so parched, water just flows down the slope into the street.

slope

 

I definitely am neglecting the lawn. I don’t fertilize it so our grass is never our neighbors’ envy. Whatever. We’re not a golf course.

lawn

Without nurturing, beloved plants quickly wither in these summer days so glorious we exclaim to each other in agreement how great the weather is. I miss summer storms.

Without clouds, without root soaking rains, life fails.

I see this as a metaphor for my own life. I’ve prided myself on my abilty to move-on past shitty times as quickly as possible, for being adept at pulling my socks up and scurrying quick to brighter days. I don’t get depressed easily. I don’t cry much. I’m good at detaching from unpleasantness – something someone recently suggested to me might be masking denial. What is sacrificed  when we fail to acknowledge, to sit in the darkness with sadness, to really feel pain and loss? Embracing emotional darkness and clouds can provide as much nourishment as the rains — allowing us to experience everything more deeply. We need these roots to feel the richness of love and joy. Without it, everything turns to dust and blows away.

Some days must be dark and dreary. Let it rain.

Autumn Leaves

Fading Chlorophyl leaf

On my recent walks down the street with Tetley, these leaching-chlorophyl leaves have been catching my eye. There’s something poignant about the luminous, x-ray quality to them, certainly an image of fading life. The ribs of the leaf are evocative of skeletons and veins, don’t you think?

Battered leaf And then there’s this one, ravaged by chomping insects, weather, time.  I find them beautiful – for me, they capture the way Summer’s has slipped away this year, slowly blurring like a watercolor into Fall. Recent weeks of high temperatures, crystalline skies, exquisitely drawing out the sweetness of last days.

Summer remains my preferred season and I am sad to see it go. I like the heat, the extra hours of light, the generally slower pace. Of course Autumn brings wonderful gifts. It’s time to start transitioning into warmer garb, closing windows, stiff from being in the open position for months. The crazy chorus of night insects has diminished to only a few, forlornly calling from the dark hedges. Darker earlier these days – and that’s even before our biannual messing around with clocks.

While I’m loathe to put on socks again, or find gloves that match, I’ll welcome fires in the fireplace, the deliciousness of being inside after the exhilaration of a walk in the bracing cold. I’ll appreciate the new views of the sky as the leaves hit the ground, easier to spot my favorite falcons that hunt in the neighborhood.

Red Leaf

On the street where I walk Tetley, at least for now, colors seem to just be leaking, fading away. But in my yard there is a Maple going out in expected glory. In the Camellia plant still perched outside, I find Maple leaves snagged in the branches, flashes of red. There are different exits to the end.

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