It's starting to click. Oh yeah. Summer is easier than I remember. It's just that ornery New England Spring that confuses me. But summer means effortless snacks of blueberries by the pint and strawberries for the picking. Summer means pesto! Praise God. I love pesto. I made it tonight and sliced and salted heirloom tomatoes to top. It was a good moment.
Today was one of those days that just worked. I think it was anchored by thoughts of pesto. We all have those days that unfold in ways you couldn't have foreseen. A day when there is no one peak arriving approximately at 10 o'clock in the morning, but simply a day placed against a backdrop of contentment and emotion. Or something like that. Anytime when you can pass the 4 o'clock hour with short people underfoot and not question the meaning of life you are in the lead. Gorgeous weather really does help. So does beet juice. The beet and carrot and apple and lemon juice that I u-turned for was well worth it. I had more energy today at 4pm than I have had in a long while.
I record this because sometimes my melancholy folk music mental state allows me to mostly write about the sullen.
If you are feeling a little sullen listen to this song. Follow it up with some pesto and we can be twins.
This week we are headed to the Blue Ridge Mountains. We are going the long way. There isn't a short way. But we aren't racing is what I mean. We aren't going to try to beat our record from last summer. I have lots to do before then, mostly get excited. But that will come once I see the hills and slip off the grid for a bit.