Summer so far

The Capitol at sunset, D.C. June 2011

It's impossible to catch up on the past few months. Here are a few high points: Baby N is walking. The house is moving along. We stayed in the Uinta's, rode horses, and played in the mud. (It took three runs through a professional car wash to get all the red mud off. Well worth it, I say.) There's a new swing in the backyard. We had our first sister's trip and heard my dad sing with the Choir in Wolftrap. I've spent lazy days and nights swinging on a hammock in the woods and seen some really great art as of late. My dad and I have an on-going Top Chef s'more roasting contest. As of a week ago, he's winning.

I've tried to take my camera with me as much as possible -- on vacation, to work, for weekend getaways, last-minute trips up the canyon when the mountains call to me down in the valley. Pictures can't capture how perfect the sunsets have been, how glorious the mountain air feels against my face after five days back east, or how green the meadow has been up at The Lot because of record snowfall and spring rain. Here are a few favorites shots of summer so far.

the song of summer

Riding on the coattails of summer, I'm hanging on to every last bit of the season as a breeze blows through the open windows. Seems as though the rest of the world is doing the same: Folks asking to sit on restaurant patios for a late supper. Couples strolling down neighborhood streets under lamp post light. Kids on bikes and scooters, their feet turning over extra fast, knowing they'll be on foot as soon as school starts next week. At Sunday dinner, when given the option of bowl or cone for ice cream, Pat, Griff and I all opted for cones. There's something about an ice cream cone that says summer. (I don't doubt Grandpa would agree.) I ordered a lemonade at lunch today in somewhat of a summer homage. It won't taste as good in a few weeks. Then, on my way home from work, I saw a handsome 30-something dude long boarding his way down 6200 South in a suit and tie, the opposite way of traffic, ipod and all. I wanted to champion him for his endless summer efforts (and bravery).

Like the last glowing embers in a campfire, or the tireless firefly in a mason jar, the light of summer is slowly fading. With that realization we walked to dinner tonight and dined on wood-fired pizza with summer veggies and heirloom tomato caprese salad. We took the long way home, our steps a bit slower. Tomorrow night there's one more cookout up the canyon. The nights are already cooler and there's that feeling of to every thing turn turn turn...

I Went up to the Mountain

Yesterday afternoon we decided to get out of the heat.

Thirty minutes later we were surrounded by this -- just

one of the things I love about where we live.

*song by Patty Griffin

Dew the Dew

I spent another weekend away from city sights and sounds. Some of us bundled up and stayed on the balcony long after dinner was over and the games were put away. We arranged the chairs in one giant circle and tilted our heads towards the August sky. It's been a long time since I've seen a meteor shower that spectacular. One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand...comet tails so long there was definitely enough time to make a wish or two. And then came the encores, their streaking siblings, lingering in the clouds of the milky way until their turn on stage, the Best in Show. Then they were gone. It was the perfect way to begin the end of summer, bundled on a balcony until one in the morning watching nature on parade.

We woke early for a short hike, made pancakes and then rallied for a day on the lake. Pat busted out his wake board skills first. It wasn't long before a boat pulled up along side us and asked if he'd demo a new toy. Little did they know he's a former Dew Tour pro. He did us proud. We skied, boarded and tubed* until we couldn't feel our arms, then packed up and headed home. There aren't many days like yesterday left in the summer.

Last night we headed up the canyon at the last minute. Windows down, we blasted the same soundtrack to our day on the lake. We drove until the road ended and got out of the car. The stars weren't as bright as they were all the way up on the mountainside, but we were far enough away from the city to catch a falling star or two and tuck them in our pockets for the ride home. Ah, endless summer. If only.

*I was instructed by the doc not to do any of the above with my back, but managed to sneak out there on a tube for a joyride, no harm done.

where the sky meets the earth

Hiked along the base of the Uinta's this weekend.

Absolutely beautiful.

The Oregon Coast & Portland

full album here

Who hath desired the sea?*

after a family gathering tonight, we're headed to stay

in a shingled house by the sea.

there's a cozy spot quite like this one in the main part of the house. Upon the sight of it,
I dubbed it as my sleeping quarters and my daytime lounging spot.
it's perfect for reading and looking out at the ocean.

we're each in charge of a meal and a day's worth of activities.
so far i've found four killer cookie recipes and
a list of local design shops.
chocolate marshmallow cookies and sea salt caramel brownies count
as a main dish. especially on vacation.
i pulled out the travel folder from my work files
and am excited to peruse the local design scene, albeit possibly solo.
i've looked up bookshops, too.
more will be in tow on those outings, perhaps.

mostly, i'm excited for sea and sand and uninterrupted time with family.

*"The Sea and the Hills," by Rudyard Kipling

deep greens and blues are the colors I choose

In the evening sun we drove until the pavement stopped and the dirt road began. From there we wound around within the bowl the surrounding mountains created, while the car kicked up clouds of dust too thick to see the sheep in the fields.

We ate fresh tomato, basil and mozzarella sandwiches out on the big porch (with screens on three sides) and talked until the evergreens turned dark blue and came tumbling down the mountain in long, sharp shadows.

After a while, the moon rose and pulled a blanket over our conversation. All became quiet and still. We packed the silver truck full of what was left and drove past bleating sheep and the babbling brook down in the pasture. Night owls are in good company. The sound of gravel was quiet backdrop to our collective narrative. Soon tires gripped pavement and started to hum along the highway.

If you're lucky enough to be in the mountains, he said, you're lucky enough.

{image}

San Diego Serenade

Gracias to the following:
The Peppertree Lane clan for palm trees outside my window, fresh peaches picked along side B Man, and a ferris wheel ride with a view to die for.
To MC for calling E just before getting on said ferris wheel.
To The Wolf for letting me drive his BMW.
To Cole et al. Thanks for hangin'.
To Wayne for the tour, the ghost stories, for finally answering our questions about what lies beyond the gravel and the 3,000 year old redwood tree stumps.
To Baby J for blue eyes and shaggy blond hair.
To the pastry chef at Extraordinary Desserts (I wish we were best friends so we could share secrets)
To E Del Mar, for 'you only live once,' for shouting Whole Wide World along the coastline, for making those old dudes take our pic by that trail, for driving across the big blue bridge, etc. etc. etc.

clouds of gray in violet skies

Yesterday we walked the three blocks it takes to get from church to home. The usual crowd gathered at our house and we lounged about, laughing until it was time for dinner. We ate berry sherbet for dessert. When the sky darkened and clouds loomed large, Dad and I opened the windows and stood on the deck. The sun set in the east and with just enough time, we decided to drive up to the wall. We sat along the stacked stones, and watched the sky glow violet as lightening cracked across the valley. We stayed until raindrops splashed on our shoulders, then darted for the car. As we drove down the hill, the smell of the first summer storm filtered through the open car windows.

just around the corner

We walked down over around and up after dark -- the first official walk of the season past the Magic House. It was all flowering plums and sweet smelling blossoms along the way, and people tucked snug inside their houses until warmer nights when windows will swing wide and screen doors will clap shut with the in and out of summer. Our cheeks were rosy red upon return, but we stood in the driveway like always and chatted for a few minutes more. Life seems to roll on at a steady pace, yet my most favorite things remain the same: twinkle lights strung over the arbor, the sound of basketball games after supper and the feeling that summer is just around the corner.

pedal pushers

On late summer days, the kind when there's nothing to do and everything to do all at the same time, we'd hop on our bikes and head north, pedaling like there was no tomorrow. We'd ride to our favorite street, the one with the perfect slope and the newly remodeled house on the left. Slowing at the bend before easing west with a slight turn of the handle bars, we'd make sure there were no cars, then in unison we'd begin.

Cranking our pedals with childish calves, we'd churn and churn until pedaling was no longer necessary and we could coast. Like performers on a tightrope, we'd take our hands off the handlebars and balance. Stretching our arms out into our trouble-less childhood world we'd raise our palms to the heavens, offering up our young hearts to the gods of summer. The warm breeze ran through our hair and across our faces. We were prayers in motion. Riding against gravity and fear, we were small gestures of innocent self-mastery, the graceful uprise of victory imprinted across our chests. Heads back and faces towards the sinking sun we were all smiles down the tree-lined neighborhood streets. One block. Two blocks. Then three, until our bikes slowed beneath us and we'd have to take up the pedaling and steering. Without talking, we'd glance in each others direction. Again.

under a silver moon

Last night under twinkle lights, we ate strawberries and peanut butter bars with chocolate on top. We turned pages and stopped to enjoy the sunset. We talked until the candles burned dim and the air turned cool. I drove down the hill into the city under the sliver of a silver moon.

what i've been up to

road tripping.family.softball.picture-taking.memory-making.girl talk.rocky mountains.zip line.helmet head.campfire.s'mores.birthday cake.long dinners.
wild flowers.m&m's.aunts.uncles.cousins.design scheming.daydreaming.colorado.reading.canoeing.baby-holding.surprise party.guitars.hot chocolate.pine trees.cabin.open air.fruit shakes.late nights.early mornings.bunk beds.rain.fishing.hiking.singing.dancing.

happy weekend, wherever you are and whatever you're doing.

endless summer

On Mondays we go to the lake. Well, every other Monday. And once I think we went on a Saturday. Regardless of what day it is, we love Lake Day. Steph throws her kayak on top of the car, we pack some snacks, and head up the canyon where the water is clear, the sky is blue and the mountains are green green green. We take turns in the boat, Steph the ever-patient teacher, reminding us to use our hips to steer. We drive the opposite way down the canyon, the quiet way, where houses dot the roadside, instead of barriers and speeding cars. It may take longer, but we can roll down the windows and feel the mountain air as it mingles with the air down in the valley. It's our own endless summer, I suppose.

Under the Sea

I chose a lane inside today, instead of outside in the Olympic-sized pool. I wasn't feeling my normal Dara Torres-self. Maybe tomorrow. I decided to forgo the fashion show of those who come swimming, but never actually get wet. It's the same old summer scene of teens and tweens in bikinis and board shorts, rotating their lawn chairs with the cycle of the sun; and the latest prodigies of P90X strutting their stuff.

There is a cute guy in the lane next to me, but that's not why I chose it. He looks 30-something. Fit. He kicks with precision and he's not afraid to wear a swim cap. On the opposite side is an older woman. Elderly. Bedecked in full snorkeling regalia. You know, in case she encounters a friendly sea turtle or a school of fish at 4'5" deep. In a swimming pool. This queen of the Sea isn't really swimming. Instead she's doing an interpretive water dance with only a few motions, relocating the water which surrounds her, eventually ending up on the other side of the pool. She has a swim cap the color of a fresh piece of bubble gum halfway on her head. The space between her head and the top of the cap creates a small crown of air that could be used as a body-buoy, if need be. She's happy as a clam over there in her own little lane and her own little world, peering through her mask as she slowly scoots in the opposite direction.

It's while admiring my snorkeling slash synchronize swimming friend's cap that I realize I've forgotten mine, and the lecture my hairdresser gave me a few weeks ago plays in my head. Something about applying a UV and chlorine-protectant serum on my hair, along with the five other $90/bottle products she jotted down on my Next Appointment card. For a moment, I scheme a cap-seizing, (not to be confused with capsizing, though in this situation one could very well lead to the other). Just as I'm ready to put plan into action, I remember there's a cute guy in the lane next to me and, single or not, senior abuse isn't attractive to anyone.

I do a few warm-up laps and stretch along the wall, my legs dangling at 5' deep. Capless, with unprotected bangs flailing in my face, I begin the modified high school swim team workout my sister outlined for me several summers ago, making sure there's an extra oomf in my kick right as cute swimmer and I pass each other in our separate lanes. The Sea queen swishes about, pink cap regally situated a top her head. As she's splashing, beams of light stream through the windows and down into the pool, casting a yellow glow upon the water.

soak up the sun

With the nights getting shorter and August thunderstorms abounding, we're trying to make the most of our summer days. We were able to cross of two more things on our Summer To Do's last week. Tuesday we walked up to Red Butte for dinner and yesterday afternoon we convened on the back patio to watch a storm roll in. Steph served up huge slices of watermelon for breakfast on Saturday, seeds abounding, and we spent the afternoon at the pool. We watched Phelps and the boys late into the night last night and I slept with my windows wide open, the fan on full blast. It's true what they say: the older you get the faster time flies.

Along with Fall cataloges and Brigham City peaches (thanks, Mom) I've the hankering to hold onto every last bit of the season. Here's to more star-filled nights, more dark rolling clouds, more chats - bed, porch, and poolside, more live music, more ice cream pie, more dinners on the patio, more Olympic golds, more sun-kissed shoulders, more Saturdays spent outside - chores undone, more nights at The Lot, more Sunday talks in the grass on Yale...Here's to soaking up every last lazy bit of summer.