THE THICK OF SUMMER

One of the greatest things about being an older adult is the time to settle into whatever season it is, which is extra lovely in the summer. As I write this, I am in a chair outside my front door, gardens bursting with blooms in front of me, a little humidity in the air, birds singing and singing and singing. There is nowhere else I have to be in this moment, no child demanding attention, no boss pushing a deadline, no Zoom call forcing me to choose whether to be on camera or not. My partner is off playing softball and I have time to myself.

And so I am here with a mug of ginger tea and a laptop that allows me to write anywhere. I keep pausing while I write so I can look up at the sky where clouds are gathering in advance of tomorrow’s predicted rain, or at the crabapple where fruit is just beginning to form hard green orbs. I can wave to my neighbor across the street as she goes off for her daily walk. I can watch bumblebees explore the coreopsis, yarrow, lavender, and Indian physics all brushing their blooms against each other alongside our driveway. I can admire the intense red astilbe that have erupted just in time for the fourth of July. 

This past week, Mick and I went to Age-Friendly University Day at the University of Minnesota, an annal event for mature alums to explore all the things our later years can be: healthy, active, productive, and agism-busting. One of the sessions we attended discussed how healing it is to be outside, how good for our health it is to sit with the natural world on a regular basis. Mick and I were pleased that this is something we already do and have been doing for a long time. The way I feel today after spending the morning in my own garden is proof: I am deeply happy to be here, content and unrushed, my attention not shattered into a million shards. I am a terrible multi-tasker, something I’ve come to understand much better in the last few years. But I’m really good at sitting outside, listening.

This makes me think I had it right when I was a kid, wiling away afternoons with a book I loved while laying around in our yard. Kids naturally know when to stop, be still, and regroup if they are left alone long enough to find that out for themselves. I had parents who did not schedule things for me in the summer. They assumed I would find plenty to do on my own. The only thing they planned in the summer months was a block of time to take our annual road trip, which was itself barely planned: get in the car with our suitcases and head out for two or three weeks. We knew where we were going when we got there. There were plenty of stops along the way to check out something that we stumbled on, usually a natural attraction: a park, hiking trail, mountain, dirt road in the middle of nowhere. My father always brought binoculars along, put them into use so he could scan the countryside at each stop. We got lost all the time, found our way somewhere that offered a motel room for the night. That kind of childhood primed me well for this latter part of life when activity levels are different, when we can choose how busy to be or not to be, and when we can let ourselves find little bits of awe along the way. 

July is a great time to find some awe in Minnesota. Warm enough to get outside unencumbered or stargaze in the middle of the night. Light enough late enough to take long walks after dinner. Sultry enough to feel your body slow down, pause for a moment. 

Don’t wait to pause for that awe. Summer is now. We are in the thick of it.

all photos by kcmickelson 2024