I wanted to write about blueberry picking on an unheard-of first of July—how the geese honked on the nearby farm pond and about making eye contact with a quivering coyote before he disappeared behind a bush. I was going to tell you the worry he caused me was worth it because in the end, there was a luscious blueberry crisp for dessert that night.
I was going to write about partaking in our occasional summer tradition . How the following Sunday, we brewed coffee, bought a few bagels and loaded ourselves into our dingy. Before 8:00 a.m., we sipped from cups at the end of the breakwater that protects our harbor, but the tide came up fast. So we climbed back into the boat, anchored it off shore and listened to the lap of the water while watching an egret pick its way through the waving fingers of marsh grass across the channel.
I thought about describing our sail on Saturday, and how a steady breeze (perfect for a reluctant sailor like me) carried us well beyond the lighthouse a mile out. When it was time to turn around the wind shifted and carried us through the trail of sunlight sparkling across that late afternoon water and back into the harbor, no tacking required.
I thought about writing down all of these things and now I have. Maybe that means I’m back. In truth, I’m not really sure—
What have you enjoyed the most about your summer so far?