Summer ‘Til The Last Drop
Whether it’s the trips to the beach or dining al fresco on a weeknight or the Californian in me you can never shake out, I’m born for summer. Strappy dresses, barely-there sandals, sun-kissed shoulders, fruity-scented lip balm...the whole nine yards.
That’s what makes the autumnal equinox thing a wistful time of year for me.
The kids are back in school, yet the sun shines blazingly hot. Flowers continue to bloom and beg for a drink, and my rogue pumpkin plant is so productive that I should plunk down a sign and open an official "patch."
But soon, this will officially come to a halt when the seasons shift. Lucy will push in her stool and flip her sign, which will read: “The Dr. Is Out.” So the countdown has begun:
The last road trip.
The last swim.
The last watermelon. (In my pantry, awaiting the knife.)
The last barbeque.
The last white shorts.
The last garden pesto.
The last sandbox sandwich shop, where the sammies are made-to-order.
It’s not that I don’t love fall. I remind myself of this in looking at last year’s pics of gourds and pumpkins and hayrides and homemade apple crisps from fruit we plucked off trees ourselves. The apple ciders spiced with cinnamon. The first chilly wind when you have to pull down the hat basket...The plunky DIY Halloween costumes.
Having grown up in a climate where fall was mild, I appreciate the rich colors of East Coast foliage. Of course I adore everything about the fashion, which I cover in my line of duty: the cozy sweaters, patterned tights, faux leathers. And in one word, boots. (In many respects, my wardrobe is more ready for fall than I am!)
Still, I mourn the passing of summer, and thus have been trying to squeeze the life out of it, much akin to needing every drop of lemon juice for that classic lemon bar recipe: #summertilthelastdrop. On a recent last trip to a wild-horse inhabited beach we fished,
ate burritos beachside
...and biked until the road ran out.
I paused often, trying to cherish the #fiercenature moments in unexpected places
...and the soft tranquility of others where visual chaos reigned.
We also observed butterflies in migration: thousands of butterflies beginning their journey in preparation for the colder weather. Perhaps there is a lesson to be learned from them. They do so quietly, elegantly: soaking up the sun and moving on.
Until next year then, summer.