52 Letters: #9

Dear Summer, 

I've never been a swimmer, a sailor or able to catch a tan. I wouldn't say I'm the best at summering, but I often feel I'm at my best within this sunny season. Summers, for as long as I can remember, have held a sense a freedom. It clearly has to do with the fact that there's no school in the summertime, but I still feel that same exhilarating spark when the calendar pages turn past Memorial Day. 

This summer swelled with goodness. Sweaty weekends wading into ankle deep rivers, exploring new parts of my home state and visiting sweet new babies. Sunsets on the new home deck, sipping beers and sorting fishing flies while ribs charred on the grill. Sunkissed mornings reading blogs, downing iced coffees and homemade donuts.

I spent most of my time being an extreme homebody or being on the road. I think I only went to one Farmers Market, and missed an 80/35 for the first time in years. But I never felt like I was missing out. (FOMO free.)
 
I was relaxing in Milwaukee, in Chicago, in Elkader, in Rocky Mountain National Park, soaking up mountain views and sister time and best friend visits and totally delicious food. I was learning to safely turn off and on the new gas grill and fixing elaborate cheese plates and feeding Kevin way too much. Since turning 30 life has been brimming with ease. (I'm not sure that's the best way to describe it, but it makes sense to me. It makes so much sense.)

Farewell Summer. As I write this it's 100 degrees. It seems we are both not quite ready to let go. 

xo-LP