On summer mornings, I walk early. Sun filters through shade trees and the humid air is soft. A light breeze stirs as I circle the neighborhood enjoying the assortment of landscaping styles. In Minneapolis, the boulevard next to the street is often the focus for self-expression.
Tidy mown boulevards are uncommon
With native plants, nature takes its course
An offering of gentle inspiration
When it comes to gardens, more is more
Lost the plot—sometimes the vision gives way to busy reality
Bone box—a welcoming community
Nature put it there and Nature can take it away (because I’m not gonna)
This summer’s smoky air has forced me to confront the many effects of climate change. While I shop for an electric or hybrid vehicle, I’m consciously turning away from my anxious dismay to remind myself of three favorite summertime experiences.
Fireflies at the University of Minnesota Arboretum
Walking the hardwood paths and wildflower fields at dusk, when the grounds are usually closed, was magical. The air was warm and still. The land exhaled. At first, we saw a spark of light here and there in the shadows. As dusk deepened to near dark, small clouds of fireflies shimmered in meadows and swamps. Flashed On. Off. On. Off. A silent conversation. A symphony of light.
ShrinerFest
In a week, my extended family will gather for a weekend in Chicago we call ShrinerFest. I continue to be delighted and surprised my siblings, their far-flung children, spouses or beaus, and grandchildren love this get-together. We’re all so different—from introverted scientists to outgoing sales managers—and hold a range of political and religious views. But we sidestep all that and just enjoy catching up, eating, laughing, eating, teasing. One young niece even illustrated a book about ShrinerFest for a school project.
Drinking wine on my small porch in the evening
We sit in the glowing circle of lamplight. I stretch out on the loveseat reading a novel while my husband reads tomorrow’s news today. The dozens of birds inhabiting our blue spruce are silent. City buses trundling by interrupt the KBEM jazz or blues on the radio. Now and then we hear the cry of a small animal—a rabbit? Chipmunk? I’m not enough of a naturalist to know. The ceiling fan stirs humid air that’s cooled to comfortable by 10 o’clock. The neighborhood quiets. We sip and read.
10. L o o o n n g days that stay light past 9:30 p.m.
11. Heat lightning.
12. Road trips—leaving early with a sack full of snacks and a cooler packed with cold drinks. Passing rippling fields of impossibly green corn and soybeans. Pink, purple, yellow, and white wildflowers tumbling across ditches.
13. Drinking wine and reading after dark on the front porch.
Powderhorn Art Fair, Minneapolis
14. Art fairs bursting with jewelry to adorn me and artwork to adorn our home.
15. Outdoor dining at area restaurants—in hidden shady gardens, improvised patios framed by flower pots, or even at tables three feet away from traffic.
16. Drinking beer (don’t tell the park rangers) around the campfire we don’t really need and seeing a breathtaking number of stars come out overhead.
