So Long Summer!

Summer in Maine is so sweet and so fleeting. We arrived here on the 14th of June, and there were a few days that still needed a coat, and one I think where I wore a winter hat. But the world had turned sweet and green and there were rhubarb and strawberries in the garden and the days were oh so long. Then so soon it all turned vibrant and sunny and summer exploded. Bricky went to camp at the beach every day and became browned from the sun and swam for hours a day like a seal. Strawberry shortcake tasted like sunshine itself. The peonies and roses unfolded. The garden came up and the wild valerian perfumed the fields. Friends and relatives and parties and festivals followed each other endlessly. Then by the end of July the blueberries ripened low in the grass, the tiger lilies bloomed, the bee balm blossomed and the tomatoes hung heavy and green on the vine. Summer at its apex in a few short weeks. Now it is not even the middle of August and the greens are bolted, there are more fruits than flowers, and the dark comes much more swiftly already. It is such a swift and dramatic turn of year here. It makes the passage of time so visceral. I fear the melancholy, utterly unknown two weeks ago, that always creeps in this season. Must everything be so fleeting? Can there never be ENOUGH time? Must I already face the tasks that won’t be completed, the relationships that won’t be renewed, and the visits and excursions that won’t be taken this year? Sadly, yes. It’s been a good run once again, and I am glad of all of the wonderful things that we have done, and all of the sun and fun that has made its way into our lives in the last couple of months. It’s almost over for this year though.

I have been all about action this summer. The pregnancy nausea finally passed just about the time I hit six months, soon to be replaced by incredible restlessness. I toss and turn at night and my legs and calves cramp up. Hormone surges got me cleaning out the barn, gardening and weeding, organizing our finances, putting together cribs and gathering tiny hand me downs. No painting, no blogging, no reflecting: all preparation. Nesting. Getting ready for the un-readyable. The magic, visceral transformation that is coming our way. I have gotten a lot done. I figured that I should just harness the energy while I could. I don’t know how relevant all of these tasks have been to preparing our lives, my mind, and my heart for the arrival of our little man, but it felt right. Babies really need organized barns, right?

Riding the tide of the summer though has reminded me, and in my labors I have occasionally paused to think, how fast it all goes. The seasons turn so swiftly. The toys and books and papers that I found in the loft were all so relevant to the kids just a few short summers ago, and are now so utterly forgotten. It takes my body less than a year to grow another new human being. A year from now when we return here again he will have teeth, and be able to crawl and to eat food other than breastmilk. The year after that he will be walking and running his way into childhood. I do try and remember these things in my busyness. I do try and pause to feel the beauty and gravity of the fleeting moment. My son and I, although I don’t know him yet, will never be as close again as we are right now, sharing one body. Life moves on, springs forth, disseminates. As the summer in Maine ends for us and we head back to L.A., I feel myself just breathe for a moment and look at where we stand. Despite my somewhat organized barn, there are many things that aren’t exactly the way that I had hoped or pictured them for this time in my life, but I just can’t care about that anymore. This is my life. I’m trying to hold onto the beauty and witness the complexity in every moment these days.