Postcards from High Summer

Summer, that season of such bounty, unfolds before us. And behind us. Maybe even within us.

It’s been a good run, so far.

We’ve been known to leave home, a handful of times. But always in our home away from home.

Slowly as a snail, we go to the good green places.

We’ve watched our mountains burn down and waited for rain.

We’ve been missing the frequent trips into said mountains (closed till rain comes), but getting occasional doses of green when we can.

Our meals are simple-simple. With the occasional pie.

Pulling the bedraggled weeds from the bedraggled vegetable patches (oh, it’s so dry!), making a feast from twenty two green beans and thirteen kale leaves. The bounty of less? Everything is precious!

Getting uber organized, but mostly on paper. Which is a pleasure in it’s own right.

Maida’s been learning to sit, and then to crawl, to delight us all endlessly.

Cora is her constant champion.

I’m saying no to too much of anything that calls me away from these empty-full days, from the gentle way life unfolds when there isn’t obligations or deadlines or ambition for more than a clean sink.

Thinking that there is one ambition I plan to fully indulge: learning to spin the rolls of fleece we carded these last few weeks.

Saying yes to the simple, nourishing, celebratory things that come along–knitting night with my compañeras is heaven. Live music on the plaza with all the locals is a constant pleasure.

Not to mention swinging in the hammock.

Or turning Thirty.

And especially not to mention swimming in the kiddy pool under the apple tree each afternoon, and gazing up into the green canopy and feeling kind of sad that there won’t be an apple harvest this year, and also strangely elated that I can continue this lazy streak well into autumn’s habitual canning season (okay, I’m mostly sad).

Happy that the Man of the Place is not so lazy. Happy for all the amazing things he’s accomplished on our humble city lot sized paradise.

Spending evenings writing in my journal, reading novels, knitting this and that. Only occasionally remembering to read blogs, and much less frequently to write a post here. I feel as if I’ve been freed at last from the World Wide Web. It is lovely.

In essence, this summer has been like a long retreat at a Vipassana meditation center where the refrain is nowhere to go, nothing to do, no-one to be.

We’re just here, in the backyard.

Thanks for dropping by!

14 Replies to “Postcards from High Summer”

  1. I love these postcards and I love you! I am thrilled that you are so happy. One day in the not so distant future I hope drop by and visit you in your backyard, in the real world I mean, not via the world wide web and dip into your refrain: nowhere to go, nothing to do, no-one to be…..
    xoxoxo claire

  2. Sweetness my dear, Always appreciating your wise encouraging refrain….do less be more…things are heading that way in me more and more, thank goodness and thank you for steadily being the voice of simplicity, the voice of reason!!!

  3. I stumbled on your blog a few months ago and I particularly appreciated this post. I live in western CO, basically high desert, and I’ve struggled to adjust to the climate while I read blogs from California, Washington, Maine, North Carolina and so on where mothers are reaping from these vast gardens and basking in shining lakes while I struggle to keep my plants from shriveling in the baking adobe soil of my backyard, and long for a trickle of water up to my knees. Lots of the fruit trees we usually pick from suffered in a late frost this year and it seemed like dust and smoke blew for weeks this spring. It’s just nice to not feel alone in trying for simple living when it sometimes feels so much harder. Your entries have helped me to step back and take stock of my life a little more and be a little more ok with where I’m at.


    1. Christi~
      This has been an especially hard summer in the four corners region. I’m the most avid desert lover I know, and I’ve fantasized about moving to wetter climes all summer long. And yet, this is home, the land I love. Even if my favorite parts have been off limits this year, or even burning down. Honestly, if I’d known the rain would never really come, I would have stopped watering my garden back in June and just gone to the farmer’s market instead. For now, we get to look around with gratitude, at the things we didn’t really think were what we wanted, but somehow, turn out to be anyways. I love weaving a season of drought into my bones and the stories of our family.

    1. Hi Adrie–
      My dear friend made Maida’s lovely vest, and I keep forgetting the name of the pattern, but it reminds me a lot of a sleeveless Swing Thing. I do happen to know that it was knit with Berroco Peruvia, a handpainted colorway. It’s scrumptious. And so well knit. Thanks, B!

  4. Your girls are gorgeous. What cheeks on that baby!
    We had a big fire/drought year here in Southwest Colorado in 2002. It was epic and intense and scary for us plant lovers. And the next two years we had above average moisture and all was restored. Yin yang.
    Enjoy your vipassana summer.

  5. Oh, your summer sounds so wonderful. At a time when I know I am trying to squeeze in much too much into my days and not enjoying as much the precious moments as I should or taking the time to sit and knit or tend to some flowers, just because.. or read some more and just plain slow down to be more attentive to our children and my husband – I thank you for the reminder.
    Warm wishes, Tonya

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