It's almost summer again. Summer: bare feet, vacation days, biking on dusty lanes, swimming in the coolness of blue sparkling, sun-flecked water, weeding in the garden, toes dug down past the too-warm soil to the damp and cool beneath.
It is the season for tailgate suppers in the woods beside the monster machines creaking and cooling down after running all day. In the shade of the leftover trees or the mountainous ranks of popple, pine, and hardwood bolts we roast hot dogs over a tiny fire placed carefully on the denuded forest floor on the trail. It's the place for those silly, cheap, folding lawn chairs to sit in a comfortable circle in the dust around the fire. Whippoorwills and frogs serenade us as darkness settles around us.
Summer is the time for VBS and reunions. Which will we attend? It's also the time for weddings. And the outdoor upkeep on buildings. And church camp-outs. Full weekends of social events. It's the time for trade shows and festivals. Everyone wants to vacation at some point so we discuss who should work, when, so that vacations can be spread around to each and all in need. If we are not careful; we double book and have to rework the calendar, again.
Summer is the shortest, most treasured season of all. I purpose to enjoy it as such.
We have an old door from Grandpa Skrivseth's house in our house. It swings between the entry and the rest of the house on hinges, no latch. It is not a pretty door, but pretty nostalgic for me. This spring we gave it a new coat of paint on the entry side and sanded and varnished it on the house side. The door knob and back panel thereof were black with age and use. Soda and lemon juice and a scrubbing did wonders. There was brass and nickel under all that black stuff.