Tonight there's a tiny slice of moon, and locusts droning, and a cool breeze. Lightning bugs, the fragrance of someone's newly mown grass, phone calls and visits from people I love.
Babies and toddlers exploring the world. Five-year olds, excited about starting school, and high-schoolers excited about finishing up yet one more stage of their education. Eight-year olds excited about ball games and swimming; and eleven-year olds poised at the edge of childhood. Grandmothers excited about seeing the newest baby in the family, and a brother who's just become a grandfather for the first time. Weddings and other adventures. Love everywhere I look.
Fresh tomatoes, fresh melons, fresh sweetcorn.
All kinds of good music: Beach Boys. Vivaldi. Brooks and Dunne. Corelli. Thelonius Monk. Trisha Yearwood. Ella, Tony, and Frank. Bach.
Tiny, lacy ferns embroider the shady corners of our garden, and yellow self-seeded snapdragons bring a hint of sunshine to the front of the flower border. The hostas are starting to bloom, purple and white stalks of delicate flowers.
Good books: My Life in France, by Julia Child. Velvet Elvis by Rob Bell. The Good Book itself.
And tomorrow's Sunday, with worship, and good singing, friends and fellowship.
It really doesn't take all that much to be rich, and yet, we are rich beyond measure in these simple things.
Showing posts with label summer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label summer. Show all posts
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Friday, August 1, 2008
Green Beans, Sweet Corn and Tomatoes
It's green bean, sweet corn and tomato season, and that means hard work, a steamy, fragrant kitchen and laughter.
Because my husband watched as a wide-eyed little boy the day his mom's pressure cooker exploded (a malfunctioning safety valve) we've never canned much. No one was hurt that day, but he tells me frozen vegetables taste better anyway.
When our kids -- now all grown -- lived at home, we had lots of help when it was time to put up green beans, corn and tomatoes. Now that they all live on their own we don't need quite so much in the freezer, but we still freeze corn, tomato sauce, and green beans because it's such a pleasure, in the middle of winter, to pull out those frozen packets of summer's goodness.
The kids used to try to hide when it was time to shuck corn or snap beans, but we tracked them down and persuaded them back to the kitchen to help. These days, they still come to help when they can -- voluntarily. They come to give us a hand, to snag some of those frozen packages of vegetables for their own freezers, and to share in the fun.
Yesterday, though, it was just my husband and me. He shucked the corn and I blanched it. Together we cut the corn off the cob and bagged it for the freezer. Our golden lab scouted the floor for kernels of corn we dropped -- making her a real corn-dog.
It's hard work but we didn't mind. The whole time we worked we talked and laughed; the table covered in corn silk and cobs, just enjoying the rhythm of the work and each other's company.
Later this summer I'll freeze tomato sauce; this coming winter that sauce will be delicious for spaghetti, or soup or lasagna. At least some of the green beans and corn will show up on our Thanksgiving table. We'll be nourished twice: once by the actual vegetables themselves, and once again by the memory of the fun we had doing all that hard work.
Because my husband watched as a wide-eyed little boy the day his mom's pressure cooker exploded (a malfunctioning safety valve) we've never canned much. No one was hurt that day, but he tells me frozen vegetables taste better anyway.
When our kids -- now all grown -- lived at home, we had lots of help when it was time to put up green beans, corn and tomatoes. Now that they all live on their own we don't need quite so much in the freezer, but we still freeze corn, tomato sauce, and green beans because it's such a pleasure, in the middle of winter, to pull out those frozen packets of summer's goodness.
The kids used to try to hide when it was time to shuck corn or snap beans, but we tracked them down and persuaded them back to the kitchen to help. These days, they still come to help when they can -- voluntarily. They come to give us a hand, to snag some of those frozen packages of vegetables for their own freezers, and to share in the fun.
Yesterday, though, it was just my husband and me. He shucked the corn and I blanched it. Together we cut the corn off the cob and bagged it for the freezer. Our golden lab scouted the floor for kernels of corn we dropped -- making her a real corn-dog.
It's hard work but we didn't mind. The whole time we worked we talked and laughed; the table covered in corn silk and cobs, just enjoying the rhythm of the work and each other's company.
Later this summer I'll freeze tomato sauce; this coming winter that sauce will be delicious for spaghetti, or soup or lasagna. At least some of the green beans and corn will show up on our Thanksgiving table. We'll be nourished twice: once by the actual vegetables themselves, and once again by the memory of the fun we had doing all that hard work.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Summer
Spring seems to have fled.
These warm and warmer days have crowded it out; corn shoots up in the fields, and already a dry, dusty film covers grass and shrubs.
Cicadas drone in wooded areas, though we don't hear them much in town yet. We are almost at the longest day of the year, and it makes me sad to think of days shortened even by a few minutes, already.
We could use a bit of rain, to wash things off and wet them down. In the afternoons the corn leaves curl up ever so slightly, and each evening stays warmer than the last. Soon we'll have used up the cool air in the basement; the humidity will make it as sticky and uncomfortable as the air outside.
It's the kind of weather that makes me want to go to the swimming pool, to play corner tag and practice diving; I want to lounge on the screened in porch with a long romantic book and read all afternoon; I want to sip sweet tea and visit with friends in the back yard after a light summer supper of tomatoes and sweet corn.
I don't do those things, mostly, because I have responsibilities, duties, chores.
I don't do those things, mostly, because I've grown up and it seems wrong, somehow, to spend the whole day playing.
I don't do those things, mostly, because I've forgotten just how much fun summer can be . . .
These warm and warmer days have crowded it out; corn shoots up in the fields, and already a dry, dusty film covers grass and shrubs.
Cicadas drone in wooded areas, though we don't hear them much in town yet. We are almost at the longest day of the year, and it makes me sad to think of days shortened even by a few minutes, already.
We could use a bit of rain, to wash things off and wet them down. In the afternoons the corn leaves curl up ever so slightly, and each evening stays warmer than the last. Soon we'll have used up the cool air in the basement; the humidity will make it as sticky and uncomfortable as the air outside.
It's the kind of weather that makes me want to go to the swimming pool, to play corner tag and practice diving; I want to lounge on the screened in porch with a long romantic book and read all afternoon; I want to sip sweet tea and visit with friends in the back yard after a light summer supper of tomatoes and sweet corn.
I don't do those things, mostly, because I have responsibilities, duties, chores.
I don't do those things, mostly, because I've grown up and it seems wrong, somehow, to spend the whole day playing.
I don't do those things, mostly, because I've forgotten just how much fun summer can be . . .
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