We always look forward to summer as a time of rest and reconnection. The school year is like a runaway train that we board in September, with brief stops at Christmas and in March. It takes weeks of nothing for me to remember myself.
It starts with that first walk down a shady lane, through old deciduous trees and Canadian Shield to our favourite hidden beach. Visits with friends where there is no reason to look at a clock, sharing snacks and towels, wet bums on the quilts we've spread across the sand, sun and wind, red pines and the sound of waves and our children's voices calling to one another. A layer of stress falls away.
Finding myself onstage once more, stepping out of the self I have become (wife/mother/teacher/farmer) and into a role. I get to put on makeup, wear costumes, pretend, boss people around, flirt, argue, fight, and fall in love on stage once a week with this year's production of Mark Crawford's Stag and Doe.
Another layer of stress falls away, to reveal a part of myself that sits quietly through the year where I meet the needs and demands of so many others. It's, quite simply, FUN. It's fun that I haven't orchestrated for my kids, that I don't have to manage or supervise. It's just joyful, pure fun, for me.
I sat at my spinning wheel yesterday for the first time in months, and felt more stress fall away as my feet worked the treadles and my hands played out lengths of merino and silk. I'm in love with green these days and am so happy with this multi-hued three-ply that resulted from a day of spinning-wheel play.
We've chosen not to raise any meat-animals this year and have welcomed the break this has given us. We've had our share of farm-drama, caring for a ewe with mastitis and a pony with an abrasion on his pastern. We also have a young chicken named Gonzo who either got pounced on by a cat or suffered from a nerve-damaging virus. He hobbles and flaps his way around the farm when he's not being catered to by the kids.
We keep busy taming our little fur-babies. I had almost forgotten the joy of timelessness, of lying on a quilt with my kids, scratching tiny ribs to elicit a tiny purr, with no deadlines to meet or places to be. Jude laughs with delight at my kitty-baby-talk and thinks I'm funny. That feels awesome.
And with our humidity and heat, we watch the storms. Our power inevitably goes out, so storms are always spent on the front porch watching the sky, counting the beats between lightning and thunder, having thumb wars, and just being together.
I'm slowly shedding a school-year's worth of stress and coming back into myself.