I love the summer. I always have. When I was a little girl, I thought I was super lucky to have a summer birthday—I pitied the kids who had birthdays during the school year. They didn’t get to have a big outdoor party, complete with games like the peanut scramble, and mint chocolate chip ice cream cake from Baskin Robbins. Daylilies started to bloom right around my early July birthday, and I thought they were meant exclusively for me. When I got a little older, summers were long stretches of endless books to read….and then a summer job….and then a break from college. They always felt, well, summer-like until I had a regular job.
These days, summer is my busy time. The farmers’ markets are in full swing and people are getting married and having parties, and they need sweets. Fruit is local and bountiful and finite, and needs to be put in jars as fast as I can keep up. Coincidentally, my husband is a teacher, so summers are his big break from work. This leaves me where I was last week, alone in the hot house, with lots to do. My husband was at the beach. Sometimes I long to be six again.
Tue, July 24, 2012