A Wisconsin winter has a beginning and an end. There is a definite progression, a movement forward as you count the weeks until spring. Minutes of daylight gained each week are a treasure. And when the day comes when you find yourself eating dinner by the light of the sun, you rejoice.
Summer is different. Oh, there are those who can't wait for the hot and humid and oftentimes buggy spell to move on. They talk wistfully of the crisp autumn day, the colors of fall, as if these were the highlight of the year.
They don't fool me. No one looks forward to the coming of winter in the way that we all look forward to the coming of spring and summer.
We're in a string of perfect days now and perhaps they seem interchangeable here, on Ocean. One day there are lilacs, on another I'll post peonies. The porch breakfast is here to stay. Snowdrop has her daily outing to the playground and at the farmette, she is beginning to appear rather regularly in a swim suit. If not tomorrow, then the next day -- it's all a mixture of the same, no?
To a person who pays attention to what's growing all around us, the answer is no. It's not all the same.
In the garden there is a season of change. Flowers come, flowers go. I know what's coming. I know tomorrow will not look like today.
The irises of May and June:
And yes, the peonies: early ones, late ones.
(They always make it to the breakfast table.)
And there is a difference in the light, no? Early spring is gentle. Early summer is bright, so bright that you welcome any shade, just to temper the light around you.
At the farmette the routines don't shift much, but that's because we haven't had our fill of outdoor time. The sandbox just went up less than a month ago.
(Java is ever hopeful that it will be a source of chicken treats. No, Java, there is nothing in it for you!)
And Snowdrop -- she is developing a summer look. Despite the daily use of sun screen, she has the appearance of an outdoor child. Too, her hair turns blond, her eyes sparkle.
(Ahah, your hair is all white! How true...)
(Umbrella play: the shade is always welcome!)
(The power of a waterfall...)
That grin belongs to late spring. Or summer.
Will it be different tomorrow or the next day? Yes. Like the summer season, she changes. Constantly and beautifully.
Ed and I -- well, we grow older and wiser. Hey, I'm just repeating the words of my doc, who today, looking over my skin for signs of trouble (none) pointed to a few marks here and there and said -- signs of wisdom.
Summer is different. Oh, there are those who can't wait for the hot and humid and oftentimes buggy spell to move on. They talk wistfully of the crisp autumn day, the colors of fall, as if these were the highlight of the year.
They don't fool me. No one looks forward to the coming of winter in the way that we all look forward to the coming of spring and summer.
We're in a string of perfect days now and perhaps they seem interchangeable here, on Ocean. One day there are lilacs, on another I'll post peonies. The porch breakfast is here to stay. Snowdrop has her daily outing to the playground and at the farmette, she is beginning to appear rather regularly in a swim suit. If not tomorrow, then the next day -- it's all a mixture of the same, no?
To a person who pays attention to what's growing all around us, the answer is no. It's not all the same.
In the garden there is a season of change. Flowers come, flowers go. I know what's coming. I know tomorrow will not look like today.
The irises of May and June:
And yes, the peonies: early ones, late ones.
(They always make it to the breakfast table.)
And there is a difference in the light, no? Early spring is gentle. Early summer is bright, so bright that you welcome any shade, just to temper the light around you.
At the farmette the routines don't shift much, but that's because we haven't had our fill of outdoor time. The sandbox just went up less than a month ago.
(Java is ever hopeful that it will be a source of chicken treats. No, Java, there is nothing in it for you!)
And Snowdrop -- she is developing a summer look. Despite the daily use of sun screen, she has the appearance of an outdoor child. Too, her hair turns blond, her eyes sparkle.
(Ahah, your hair is all white! How true...)
(Umbrella play: the shade is always welcome!)
(The power of a waterfall...)
That grin belongs to late spring. Or summer.
Will it be different tomorrow or the next day? Yes. Like the summer season, she changes. Constantly and beautifully.
Ed and I -- well, we grow older and wiser. Hey, I'm just repeating the words of my doc, who today, looking over my skin for signs of trouble (none) pointed to a few marks here and there and said -- signs of wisdom.
