June berries

Summer is upon us. Those magical days of quiet early morning walks, lush gardens, sleepy afternoons, sticky sandy beach days, sun kissed freckles, wild summer berries, torrential thunderstorms, and moments that seem to defy the laws of time in length. Easily our favorite time of year.

I am looking forward to more unplanned days, and relatively late mornings full of snuggles. Just enough before hanger shows up, as it tends to. Summer can’t be all sunshine and daisies..

Nora mulberries-1Nora mulberries-4Nora mulberries-5Nora mulberries-3

breakdown

The oil light blinked on, and the car engine made an awful noise of metal pieces working their hardest to move. I asked my husband if he thought we should pull off at the next stop. I knew it would put a dent in our timing, we were to be in South Dakota by that evening to spend the Fourth of July at the very patriotic Mount Rushmore. We pulled off, despite having checked and rechecked the car before this thousand mile journey, even buying new tires for it, and drove to a local mechanic who was busy looking at semis and Ford trucks. He said he wouldn’t be able to get to the car for at least a few more hours, and then if he could fix it, we would have to wait until after the holiday weekend. We decided to push on, despite the risk.

Another hour closer to the west, the engine stalled. We coasted to the side of the road, and settled there for three hours with our two children and a dog in the summer sun. As our adult minds were heavy with the stress and gravity of the situation, exponentially increasing costs, and worries of what to do next, our girls spent their time picking wildflowers and finding treasures. So we took a hint from those wise old souls and stepped back. Looking at the bigger picture, we saw what really mattered and found a few treasures along our new journey. Isn’t that just the way.

“The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper.”
― W.B. Yeats

A Summer Rain

“Drip drip the trees for all the country round,
And richness rare distills from every bough;

The wind alone it is makes every sound,
Shaking down crystals on the leaves below.

For shame the sun will never show himself,
Who could not with his beams e’er melt me so;

My dripping locks—they would become an elf,
Who in a beaded coat does gayly go.”

The Summer Rain, Henry David Thoreau

honorable august

“The bee is not afraid of me,
I know the butterfly;
The pretty people in the woods
Receive me cordially.

The brooks laugh louder when I come,
The breezes madder play.
Wherefore, mine eyes, thy silver mists?

Wherefore, O summer’s day?” [.]

We took a fishing trip to mirror lake, a favorite clime of sanctioned forest where we have our own secret digs and groves, discovered before this little nymph came into our lives. It was her first time exploring there, and her last for a number of years. I don’t know when we will be back to this area again, where the wind brings wildflowers of high summer to life. They nodded their heads as if beckoning us to join them and do the sensible thing of making floral crowns. The most sensible wear them until they become listless, weighty with summer’s heat and depth. Not long after, the wearer mirrored the act and napped the whole return home.

helpful little floral crown tutorial on the house that lars built