Green. It’s suddenly rolling across the fields and bursting out of the trees. This morning as I stepped out into the sunshine, my whole body felt happier.
“I know it’s not summer summer yet, but it feels so good!” I said to Edge.
“You can say it’s summer. If you say it’s summer now, it lasts that much longer,” he replied, and so I turned my face up to the sun and smiled.
Last night we had dinner around a campfire: roast chicken and ramps, a salad of baby kale, chard, pea shoots and wild spring beauties, plus local bread and cream cheese with rhubarb chutney made by our friend Mary’s family, and a spattering of cider and homebrews. Dinner ended with homemade (gluten-free) apple pie and ice cream, and as the sun set over the Worcester Range, Edge and Jeremiah took out the mandolin and fiddle and played into the night.
A fitting start to summer, indeed.
Cool nights still linger, but I’m calling it summer now. The winter was long enough, and I’m ready for the season of campfires and song.