And that was it. Closing ceremonies, tears, picnic surrounded by wildflower meadows, fish pond, a surprise gelato cart, picnic blankets pulled together under a shade tree, funny muddy kids, and our good, good people. Our new people. We love our people, and what a comfort to know we’ll return to them in September. Already, we’re plotting sleepovers and cocktail nights, meetups at the river, and more. God, I love summer.
The main thing is, I don’t have to pack a lunchbox for 79 days.
The main thing is, we can sleep as long as want, wake up to cat attacks, full sun, lawnmowers growling, the sprinklers already off for the day, grass still misted, warm breeze pushing in the curtains.
The main thing is, we did it–another year down, this one especially fretful, at first, until we found our place and our thriving and our new friends.
The main thing is, nothing but salad for dinner.
The main thing is, we have a sweet, gold Westfalia that needs to be washed, vacuumed out, started up, and stocked. (I remember once my brother inherited an ancient shell of a car that’d been stored in our grandparents’ pole barn, and when he started the engine, dozens of acorns blasted out of the tailpipe in a cloud of blue smoke — precious squirrel cache annihilated just like that.)
The main thing is, despite a niggling list of freelance assignments piling ever higher (thank you, thank you, friends and universe), she’s old enough to disappear inside chapter books while I earn.
The main thing is, hammock time.
The main thing is, school is out, summer is in, we have chickens in our laundry room, and the family is coming over to swing hammers and sling lemonade, Coop or Bust.