Summer's Rhythm
She's in full swing. Notes on bounty, love, and my participation in capitalism as of late.
It’s mid-August and summer is finally living up to her reputation. I write to you from my deck: a sturdy wooden platform perched off the back of my rented A-frame. This deck, along with the backyard babbling brook (that is almost completely dry) and red enamel wood stove, are what I lean on as justification for the irresponsibly high rent I pay. Lately, on this deck, I’ve been surrounded by catbirds and goldfinches, crickets and dragonflies on the move. I’m tucked into a swath of lush green, privy to the daily dramas that unfold in the thousand square foot radius around me. There is a wasp buzzing around my undercarriage now, which perennially inspects this particular adirondack chair for nest-making viability.
The daily rhythms of interior heat management have been alive and well. On hot days the sliding glass door closes at 9am, the fans turn on around 5pm. On chilly evenings all but one window closes, and I still wake to sub-60 degree temperatures in the morning. River-sits are plentiful, toenail polish curdled by the sun exposure, well-deserved Canadian wildfire smoke dulled our usually vibrant landscapes earlier in the month, warning of dangers to come (metaphorical or not). Rain has been incredibly scarce. My usually chatty stream is silent, my friend’s pasture is just about to wither and get carried away with the wind.
And yet, the beauty I’ve been able to access in the past little while has been boundless. I reunited with old friends, I ran a half marathon, hiked some hills, fell in love. My garden has spit out herbs upon herbs, flowers, zucchini, tomatoes, kale. I’ve spent hours drifting in and out of sleep, limbs tangled up with my boyfriend’s, his body twitching like heat lightning as he floats between here and there.
I can’t quite shake that familiar feeling most New Englanders carry, I think, that any moment not explicitly ‘enjoying the weather’ is wasted time. There is a panic that sets in the same way a squirrel is frantic with its acorns. Time is running out. We must save up the golden days of warm extremities and dog-day cicadas to last us through the cold days ahead.
Every summer I forget what winter feels like and every winter I forget what summer feels like, and around we go.
Purchases That Have Improved My Life
I won’t beat around the bush (lol), I’m not a fan of underwear. Something inspired me though, this last month, to try harder. Turns out I actually really like underwear, I was just wearing the wrong ones. Oddobody makes 100% organic cotton undies in a million colors and cuts and they are just so energetically charged with good vibes, I highly recommend.
Rug Pad
It took me six months to break down and spend $60 on a 6x9’ piece of mashed up plastic fibers and rubber, but one weekend with four visitors finally did me in. You just can’t have people slipping, sliding, and skateboarding on your beloved wool rug. It’s bad for morale.
My friend has had this wee purse in the color Sour for as long as I’ve known her, and every time I see her I want to steal it. So, I found one on Poshmark for $20 and now my urges to thieve have disappeared. I used to consider myself a tote gal, but sometimes you just need a lil’ guy to cart around the essentials instead of a half yard of canvas. Bonus points: this bag fits IN a tote, so you can double fist if you need to.
August Earworms
Looking For You - Natalie Bergman
Talker - Wilderado
I’m scheming up some new long-form essays for you all soon, just waiting to strike the iron when it gets hot. Stay tuned.
One last thing: if you or a loved one is a small business owner in need of support in the realms of social media or words (copy), I’m open for freelance business. My website is the place to go if you’re curious.
I hope your summer wraps up nicely. Gobble up all the local veg while you still can. Don’t forget to help each other, and make hay when the sun shines.
