Summer has been mild and wet this year. Days in the high 20s and low 30s. We generally do things outside in the morning and evening, and hunker down inside during the heat of the day. The garden is about to burst forth with produce so we are busy planning what we want to make this year, and looking at our store cupboard to see what we are running low on. I’m using my time to sort out the house, and gather inspiration for all the produce to come.
The cool of the evenings gives us an hour in the garden for Country Boy to potter about while I chase kids to bed, or else ignore their bedtime and grab the camera.
The summers of my childhood in the mountains were always humid, green and lush, with the constant hum of cicadas in the background. Here summer is yellow, though on wet years like this, there is a little tinge of green underneath. The hum of the cicadas is absent, and when we visit the city I really notice them. I suppose my children will always think of summer as yellow. This is my fourth summer here on the farm, and at last, it is starting to grow on me.