This photo was taken just after 11am as we entered the Alaskan ice fields, last year, on June 27, 2014.
The day felt like winter as we were served hot pea soup on the deck as we watched the glacier calf. I think the picture would have been more effective if it had also showed the glacier as it is hard to tell that it is ice floating in the water without it. However, I do like this picture with its cloudy blue sky and icy blue water framed by the mountains.
My sister spent most of the day outside watching the glacier. She got to see it calf. I did not. She said it made an amazing noise.
No regrets. That’s the motto I try to live by.
The state of being calm, peaceful, and untroubled.
It is too hot.
It is August.
These two condition seem inter-changeable. What is cause? What is causation?
I am not a fan of August. Summer is not my favourite season.
I have never been a summer’s child!
Family lore has it that I fainted from the heat, at age seven, returning from the beach.
I have always sought out the cool side of summer. I seek shade and forest glen and cave to hide within their coolness.
During those long summer days of my childhood, I would go next door to the library the minute it opened, take out the maximum six books that I was allowed and come home to read all afternoon inside.
I would hide in my mother’s closet at the very back behind all the clothes – I was a very tiny child until I hit puberty. Or I would grab my lamp and a couple of pillows and snuggle under the bed with the dog and cat. Or I would hide in the very cramped back corner of my eldest sister’s closet. There I would read and read and read until just before the library closed. Just before the library closed, I would return my six books (all read) and take out six more to hold me until the library reopened. They never did. Thankfully, I learned how to game the system. It seems, that you were allowed six books per day so I could take out six on Monday, return a few on Tuesday and take out six more. I think the maximum I had out then was around twenty at a time. The maximum we are allowed now is one hundred items checked out to your card – I’ve never done that. I have less time to read now.
I have always loved caves. I love their quiet. I love their coolness. I love their isolation. I love the alone-ness.
There are forest caves and mountain caves.
Forest caves surrounded by the scent of pine and the earth and flowers and animals. Beware of the bears.
Mountain caves reached after long hikes with younger sisters that reveal incandescent pools of azure and emerald. They need to be forever hidden from the rowdy tourists.
Does a Yeti live here?
Is this where Nessie hides from the tourists swarming her loch?
Would ET feel at home here?
Are you brave enough to explore the world’s deepest cave? I am not.
I read this story once about a young pregnant woman trapped alone in a cave.The cave had vegetation for food and a warm pool for bathing. It is a horror story. I thought, really, all she needs is a never ending supply of books or paper & pen to write her own stories down and she could be perfectly happy!
Another book I love about exploring caves is Cavedweller by Dorothy Allison.
These last few August days, my house has become a giant cave with shades drawn to keep out the heat as I hibernate and read. This is my perfect summer’s day!
I eat raspberries as I write this.
They are cold and slightly tart. They have been in the refrigerator for a few days now. I don’t like to eat my raspberries right away. I like to savor them.
They traveled a long way to get here. These are California raspberries shipped up to Canada which seems stupid. The raspberries are ripe here right now, I just can’t get to them. I have no raspberry patch of my own. I have no car. The farmers’ market has come and gone for the week (it is only on Thursday afternoons – how ridiculous). Sometimes, I really miss my city and its twice weekly farmers’ markets.
These are not my mother’s raspberries. My mother’s raspberries wait in the patch to be picked. She sprinkles them with sugar before she freezes them. I like mine frozen without sugar. I like to savor the frozen berries, one by one, in the deepness of winter. In December, I like to mush up the frozen raspberries in a big bowl of chocolate ice cream. Ah, bliss!
Raspberries are my favourite fruit.
I swear I could live for days on just raspberries and chocolate.
Growing up, my grandparent’s neighbour had a yard full of raspberry canes. These were my father’s parents. Jack lived about a quarter of a mile down their country road. He was a farmer or had been a farmer. I’m sure by then he was a retired farmer.
Jack had that look about him. To me, he seemed old and always dusty. He lived alone. He lived on a farm thus he must have been a retired farmer. It’s strange what we remember and what we assume.
I don’t remember his last name. It’s not important. If it were I could ask my mother – she would remember.
I remember being young. I was probably in grade one. We would go to pick raspberries in Jack’s yard. I was surrounded by bushes. I was a fairy tale creature in a raspberry forest surviving on what I could forage. I ate as much as I picked for the pail.
These raspberries were not for eating. These raspberries were for freezing. It seems my mother was very big into delayed gratification. It seemed all our summer fruit was for freezing and not for enjoying now. We were poor. It was prudent to freeze the excess fruits for later. But when you are a child you live only in the moment, in the now.
Is this why I am willing to pay almost five dollars for less than a pint of raspberries to eat right now?
Raspberries taste best sun ripened and warm from the heat.
My nephew lives on my grandparent’s farm now. Where Jack’s house was is a very large slough (we’ve had a lot of rain lately). This slough covers what use to be yard/garden – where a raspberry forest use to be.
Still, I wonder, have the raspberries grown wild by now? Is there somewhere, beyond the slough, a raspberry forest full of fairy-tale creatures gorging themselves on sun-ripened fruit their hands red and sticky?
What is your favourite summer fruit?
Summer is ending. The last few weeks have been hot with temperatures hovering around 30 degree Celsius (86 degrees F).
Too hot for me.
I am not summer’s child. I was born in the Spring and my heart resides in Autumn.
I adore the cooling days and nights. I luxuriate in Fall’s changing colours. I don’t want the first snow to fall until Christmas Eve (I must have snow for the holidays). Autumn is too short. Summer is too long.
It is too hot for me.
Like an insect, I hover in the cool breezes and hide inside umbrellas or sneak inside dwellings to escape the heat.
Hiding inside doesn’t work. Inside, sans breeze, is hotter than outside unless you have air conditioning (hi everyone who isn’t me).
The fans stir up only warm air and lately there have been no night breezes.
I can only survive Summer if there are night breezes.
I praise the humble dragonfly out devouring the insolent mosquito.
It is too hot for me.
The gophers are out chasing each other.
There are fresh vegetables and ripe fruits over-running homes and markets.
You can’t leave the house without zucchini and lone tomatoes apparitioning on the kitchen table or on the back deck. Beware of drive-by gardeners!
It is too hot for me!
How do I survive when it’s this hot out?
Other then hiding in air-conditioned spaces. I thank the stars for air-conditioned libraries.
I drink something hot, like tea.
Or make soup.
Yes, I know this sounds counter-productive.
Wouldn’t putting something hot in your body just make you hotter?
Actually hot beverages are good for you when it’s hot out…
They make you sweat…which cools you off…miraculous!
Also remember when you sweat you lose salt which your body needs to be healthy.
So when it’s hot, drink something hot and replenish that salt.
No you don’t need to go as far as getting a salt lick!
Hot, hot, hot…
Too hot for me!
I’m waiting (melting) (sweating) for Autumn to start
Bittersweet October. The mellow, messy, leaf-kicking, perfect pause between the opposing miseries of summer and winter. ~Carol Bishop Hipps
I had a different post planned for today (hopefully, you’ll see it next week) but I’m in the midst of the last of my unpacking (see last week) so I give you a little bit of summer color instead.
Holy, run-on sentence, Batman!
Summer is upon us.
The daytime shadows are skinny and long.
It is so hot.
It is so hot that all one has to do to dry their hair quickly is hang your head out the window for a minute or two!
I am locked up inside – hot & bored & broke & alone.
Summer is not my season.
Though I do look fondly on afternoons spent exploring shadowy woods.
But shadowy woods are best explored in May or September.
Or when there are cool winds to chase away the mosquitoes.
Summer is not my season.
Though when I was a young teenager, I dreamed of owning a cottage by the lake. But that was before the lakes were over-run with houses. You might as well be back in the city. The neighbours are close enough to touch and though there are cool breezes and calm waves there is also way too much noise and booze.
I want to be able to have my own lake with a cave to hide in. I need an island, perhaps.
Summer is not my season.
It is too hot and I can’t afford to go anywhere or buy anything (so beaches & woods & air-conditioned malls are out of reach).
It is too hot and I am bored.
I am tired of reading and tired of television.
I am longing for an early autumn (could we start now, please)!