Summer’s Intensity
I’ve never liked Summer much. I prefer Fall and Winter — the slower pace and the chance for reflection and solitude. Summer always feels a bit stressful to me. When I was a kid, I felt pressure to enjoy as much as possible before school started again. As an adult, the feeling was much the same, especially living in the Pacific Northwest. I had to take advantage of the sunlight, socialize as much as possible, go to the beach, go on a vacation, go, go, go!! As a mother of school-aged children, Summer brings a new layer of intensity, with my girls at home full time trying to create lasting memories with later bedtimes and very little quiet. And as a gardener during Summer, well, you know…
I’m not complaining about any of this. I love the harvests, the Good Work to do, having my girls at home, and the occasional social interaction (that my onions taught me to cherish). I love the color that my North African skin takes on after just a few days in the summer sun. I love running in the morning before the heat fully kicks in, finding little cold rivers to jump into, and grilling outside. I cherish our yearly trip to Croatia to swim in the Adriatic. The food throughout Summer is incredible — the tomatoes, the onions, the peppers, the eggplants, the basil, the cucumbers, the squash and zucchini, the berries still warm from the sun!! Oh my gosh it’s all so good and abundant and intense.
It is intense — a whirlwind of activities and pressure to have even more fun than you did last Summer. It’s easy to let myself spin right along with the swirling energy. But my temperament can only handle so much of that energy before I start to feel frantic, exhausted, and crave the solitude of the darker days. In the same way that Winter darkness forces me to confront my own inner darkness, Summer’s intensity confronts me with my vices that come out when I’m overwhelmed — judgment, martyrdom, snappiness (especially when I’m hot), and reclusiveness, among others — and I get the urge to run away or crawl into a hole and hide. To find serenity in the swirling, I imagine myself standing still amidst the hurriedness, in the eye of the exciting storm.
My youngest daughter was sad a few weeks ago. I think she got into a tiff with her sister. I told her when she’s sad to go grab a blanket and sit in the garden. Watch the bugs crawl around doing their work. Take notice of the colors. She’ll forget about all her problems by spending just a few moments watching the world around her. Now I ask her “Aila, what do we do when we’re sad”. She replies (seriously, she just did when I asked), “we go in the garden and look at the buggies and flowers” with a big smile on her face. I thought it was a particularly good mothering moment. When the world spins and I start to feel like I’m losing my balance, and that urge to run away and stop the madness creeps in, I try to stand still now. I quite literally go to the garden, sit on the ground and watch all that life slowly and peacefully take place beneath my pepper plants. It’s all only temporary. Fleeting, even. I am here. I am enough.
In the meantime, I’ve tried to take the pressure off as much as I can. Instead of thinking about all the things I have to harvest, I’m trying to simply harvest them. Instead of worrying about when to pickle the zucchini, and thinking about how long it will take and how challenging it will be, I just do it, without agonizing. Instead of trying to host the perfect summer get-togethers (which I then feel are either unappreciated or that I’ve failed royally — judgment and martyrdom, I see you), I’m just embracing my lack of hostessing grace as a cute personality quirk and still interact with people.
We’ve kept the food simple, and that helps too. Sliced tomatoes with salt, olive oil, basil, and a bit of mozzarella if we’ve got it. Pan-fried zucchini. Simple potato salad. Quick crostatas and quiche with whatever veg we have on hand and frozen sourdough pie crusts from days when I have extra time. Eggs with shredded zucchini and onion most mornings. Blistered padron peppers and sliced roast beef with a chunk of sourdough for dinner, for example. We’ve been savoring the ingredients as simply as possible, slowing down the madness a bit even at our dinner table.
My point is that Summer is chaotic, hot, and full of things to experience and work to do. It confronts me with Truth, just as Winter does, but then I suppose every season does in its own way. My goal in the cold months is to remember that I’m never alone even in the darkest times. Summer challenges me to believe that I am enough and that I can find peace in myself, despite the intensity surrounding me.
It’s been a good season — full of abundant energy, work, learning, and hope.
And rest is on its way.
