let my soul catch up with my body.

I'm not ditzy.  I know June 21 is the real deal.  Still?  In my mind last week was the week that summer began.
 
This is how I know...

Bugs are back, big-time.  I am perfecting my single-toe swivel-turn ant-squish, and even managed to get bitten by a tick. the fly swatter's seen some serious action.  (I'm mostly a peace-loving kinda girl around here, but, um, not exactly entirely.)  I've seen my first cricket, and the first firefly, and possibly even the first dragonfly.  I've been tripping over caterpillars and talking up chrysalises and monitoring a gauzy cocoon by the gazebo.  One day and counting...

 I slipped outside last Tuesday night and snapped some peonies.  At nine fifteen, there was still light enough.  A month ago, we were going on bat walks at ten to eight, dark nipping at dusk's heels as we hustled home.  Now, times have changed.  How I love light late nights.  The garden has lost its awkwardness.  The big Rothko canvases of early spring, crab apples and cherries and plums and such, have all given way to higgledy-piggledy.  It's all about layers, everywhere I look.  Layers of color and layers of texture.  Species, form, height, scent.  Sweet woodruff and ajuga, outgoing prairie crocus and incoming coral bells. Blushing Bride Hydrangea and banana cream Shasta daisies. Roses.  It's a high holy jumble.  A joy to behold.


We are in full bloom around here and I cannot get enough of it. Of all of the months, June is definitely my favorite, and not just because it finds me midway through roses and hydrangea.
My lone foxglove is all a-bloom.  I tried making a hollyhock doll with the dropped petals.  I may need more practice.  Or maybe a hollyhock.

 Peonies are now yesterday's news. I know. I miss them too.

For me, last year these gals were very nearly an apparition. They unfurled the day before we left for our beach trip and when we returned, they were lying there so forlorn, their petticoats an atrocious sight, scattered in heaps at their feet.

I knew it was bound to happen, but it still made me sad. I wonder sometimes that I'm so enamored of peonies because they are so fleeting? Or maybe it's because they are just so luscious. So perfect. So Belle of the Ball.

Maybe it's that. At any rate, I'm glad they at least stopped by to say hello. They're nothing if not consistent. They know how I pine for them. They know they are my secret handshake that it's officially time to stuff the freezer with popsicles and paint my toenails. I think of them as old ladies. Is that ok? So, I extend them a bit of grace. I understand that they are tired and frail. It's alright that they can't stay long, that they wilt in the heat, that they droop in the rain, that they're losing their hair.

They are the very picture of old fashioned charm and elegance. Oh Lordy, do I love them. For now, they're off to wherever it is they go, having tea parties, and wearing pearls with coral lipstick.

Here are some other things I love about summer: strawberries, hydrangea, sun the color of lemonade, perfect shade trees, homemade fresh guacamole with cilantro and tomatoes from the garden, community swimming pools, the kick-off of the Summer concerts, perennial sales, open windows, flip flop tan lines, coney dogs at the root beer stand, fudgesicles, painted toe nails, Farmer's Markets, weeding my flower beds and gardens (weeding is my new eyebrow-plucking, you know)...I could go on and on, but you get the point, I'm a girl who loves summer.

And you know what else?  I'll tell you what, legendary thunderstorms. They have been rolling our way. I feel hopped up and atwitter. It's the anticipation. And the round-the-clock meteorologists who are so gravely serious about their jobs that they take exasperated, martyred, exhilarated sips of water in between radar screens then lose their voices altogether half way in.

I mean, maybe my puppies don't feel exactly the way I do about major storms, but I'm pretty pumped about it. My birthday is sorta soonish, so I'm going to go ahead and take this as partly mine.

This just in, golf ball sized hail.
Oh, Come to mama.

Dear Fancy Pants Tomatoes,
I want to kiss your bumpy faces.
Love, floating cloudberries

Soon I will follow my summer tradition and head to the coast, spend a little time letting the sea smooth out the jagged edges that have formed within and around me, letting the salt burn the wounds, letting the sand rub off the dead skin, letting the nighttime hold me still and quiet until the first light of morning shows up with all her promises. I’ll follow the advice of Eugene Peterson and let my soul catch up with my body.

just sayin'.

BLT Chopped salad with corn, feta and Avocado

(I ate this salad scooping it up with  tortilla chips instead of a fork, I know.)

2 cups butter lettuce, chopped
2 cups fresh arugula, chopped
1 pint grape tomatoes, quartered
4 slices thick-cut bacon, fried and crumbled
1 cup sweet corn
1 avocado, chopped
4 ounces feta or goat cheese, crumbled
1 1/2 tablespoons olive oil
1 lime, juiced
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon pepper

As a note, to chop my lettuce I like to lay it out on a big cutting board and just continuously run my knife through it (in all different directions) until it's chopped as much as I like.
In a large bowl, combine lettuce, arugula, tomatoes, corn and avocado. Add in salt, pepper, olive oil and lime juice then toss well to coat. Fold in bacon and feta (or goat cheese) then divide evenly amount 2 plates. Enjoy!