Summer Song

Summer Song

Today was a summer day like summer days should be. Every season there is that especially beautiful day when emotions, events, weather, everything, align into an unforgettable picture that I carry with me in my memory.

To begin the day, Isaac woke slowly in his bed and I was able to sneak into my sneakers for a morning walk with the dog before I was missed. As I climbed the first long hill I breathed deeply. The morning sun fell on my face like a blessing. After twenty minutes of climbing, I looked out over green ski slopes to the mountains beyond. I listened to the birds sing as they swooped and looped in the fields, greeting the new day.

Looking at the mountains, I anticipated the fireworks that will bloom across the same sky and stretch of scenery this weekend. We’ll sit in the long grass and watch the fireflies wink their flirtations. The cousins will chase each other, laughing. The first boom will ring out, echoing against the mountains, resounding like the surf of the sea. The dark canvas of the sky will be splashed in blooms and diamonds of color, twinkling, crashing, wowing. But that is this weekends beauty.

Today there was the farmers market. A farmers market in our tiny, eclectic town; I was thrilled when I heard it. My spirits lifted when my friend Joy and I, along with our sons, pulled into the parking lot. Tents circled the treasures of the valley. Under one of the tents, there was a wide selection of baked goods. Carrot bread, lemon poppy seed bread, muffins, whole grain bread, raisin bread. The array was mouth watering. A woman with large blue eyes and a red striped apron earnestly told me she could bake almost anything I wanted. If I didn’t see it here I could request it. I tasted a bit of mouth melting carrot bread but walked away with a more sturdy loaf of raisin bread and a list of her baked goods and contact number.

At the next stand, I contemplated fresh farm eggs and fill a brown paper bag with homemade soaps, three for a dollar. I paid in cash, relishing the feel of paper, not plastic. At the next stand I bought a yellow split pea curry soup I shamelessly hope to copy if we enjoy it. I contemplated chili peppered pita bread and several flavors of hummus. Sadly, I could not buy it all but my mind popped with ideas. I make pita bread myself, why not season it up a bit?

At the Swover Creek Farmstand, the farm’s name was spelled in bright cloth letters that swooped overhead. A pretty, brown-haired woman smiled and answered questions while I perused her berries and bread, jellies, and quiches. The jellies would be nice additions to Christmas gifts, I thought, but I bought berries. How could I not? The red raspberries were the size of thumbs, succulent, bursting with flavor. The blueberries were tart and plump, tasting nothing like the bland ones I bought in the grocery store this week.

With our cloth bags full of treasures we went home for lunch; summer sandwiches with lettuce and tomatoes, veggie meat and leftover apple pie. Then, the creek!

We followed the winding, tree canopied trail down a hill, past yellow-faced, white frilled daisies. Dragonflies hovered overhead like helicopters. A shore bird with orange legs and a black body topped with iridescent blue feathers lifted into the sky.

At the creek the water whispered, low in its bed after a wild, ripping spring flow. Crawdads and minnows darted away from the eager splashing cousins. Isaac settled to dig in the dirt with his toes, creating new waterways. Jacob, just one, crashed with the energy of a new puppy, up and down the creek, his Mamma in pursuit. He sat, stood, fingered grasses. He gurgled, laughed, chortled, an enthusiastic creek convert.

This afternoon, with great excitement, Isaac went to West Virginia to go fishing with another cousin and his Grandparents. I drove home alone and stopped as a mother deer and her fresh spotted fawns crossed the road in front of me. New life. In the driveway, a baby bluejay with wild puffed feathers sat and tipped his head in inquiry, then took to the sky on strengthening wings. It’s summer now. Life is lush with new beauty and sun, friends and family. Having passed through the darkest winter on my emotional record book makes this summer all the brighter, all the greener. I thank God it is so.