After morning watering, I harvested the first of many Sugar Plum tomatoes from the garden and plucked the first cucumber from the vine. I had already picked a bowl of green beans and tucked them in the fridge. After tomorrow’s picking, I’ll snap, blanch, and tuck them away in the freezer for winter. Our upright freezer is already filling up with strawberries and blueberries thanks to local small businesses that bring fruit from B.C. The word is that raspberries will be here in another week or so; I am looking forward to making jam and replenishing our supply.
I’m taking it slow today thanks to a little medical issue that has unexpectedly reared its head. I was sitting out on the deck reading until a grasshopper landed on my head. No thank you! Now, I’m settled in my grasshopper-free woman cave having made dental appointments (so thankful for online booking at this new place!) and tended to something for InScribe Christian Writers’ Fellowship, about to dive back into my Kindle.
Gerry’s loading the car in preparation for an early-morning departure. He’s looking forward to hiking; I’m looking forward to quiet solitude. It’s strange, though, with no dog to keep me company. It’s been many years since our home has been without a Yorkie in residence and the absence is still heavy.
It’s inevitable that being back in my hometown, childhood summers would flit through my mind. Like a movie, flashes of me and my friends riding our bikes; making up games to play in backyards and back alleys; playing Mother May I?, Red Rover, Red Light Green Light, and Simon Says; wading pools; school yards; backyard barbecues; hot asphalt; swimming at The Nat; camping at Besant Park and Buffalo Pound; roasting marshmallows; and a bedroom that was far too hot to get to sleep in are on continuous play.
I’ve been thinking about the last July I spent here in Moose Jaw before my family moved to British Columbia. Dad had already left, having hooked up our Scamper trailer and going to his new job while Mom stayed behind to tend to the sale of our home. She worked at a bakery downtown and my sister, a far more social creature than I, kept busy with a couple of camps and time with friends. I was mostly content to stay home.
I did light chores at home, wrote letters to Dad, and spent sultry afternoons in the cool basement with a revolving set of books. I think of that girl as a reflection of who I am at the core. Given a choice, then and now, I’m mostly content at home with the company of books.
Not everyone “gets” my appreciation and need for solitude. My daughter and I were chatting about it this morning; she with a similar propensity for alone time. It’s something you’ve either got or you don’t and I suspect those of us with it are in the minority. We’re unique, I told her and we agreed: there’s no need to explain it.