Painting Summer with Words

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I have this image of summer that goes something like this:

I imagine a front porch filled with women and rocking chairs. The group consists of grandmas, aunts, moms, daughters, and sisters. It’s just after dinnertime and before twilight—that blissful time when the weather cools, the world calms, and the sun begins to set. We’re all sipping homemade lemonade as we reminisce about the past, telling stories that makes us laugh so hard we cry. The children are playing nicely with each other in the large and lusciously verdant front yard. The house is clean; the dishes are done; and our only care in the world is to laugh and watch the sun set. The men folk are nearby, pretending to work on some sort of important project, but they’re really sitting on the back porch sipping lemonade and listening to the grandpas tell tall tales. In this idyllic scene, time seems to stand still, and there is complete contentment in the souls of all those participating in the sweet simplicity of the evening.

That is my idea of summer. I don’t know from whence it sprang, but it comes to me every year, and usually intensifies near the end of summer as I cling tightly to the last remaining days, foolishly trying to prolong the inevitable fall.

I love summertime! It has always been my favorite. It’s that care-free, no school, sleep-in, and play outside all day time. All year, like most kids dream about Christmastime, I dream about July 4th barbecues and fireworks displays, as well as July 10th (my birthday) filled with good food, family, friends, and ice cream cake. This is the stuff my dreams are made of. In the winter of my mind’s eye, summer is always idyllic, and the reminiscences always make me smile.

That is my midsummer night’s dream.

Fall has its beauty, its football, and its harvest—all things that I also love—but summer has my heart.





Go Cougars and Eagles! (And for Hylan, go Seahawks and Utes!)