It’s summer now and the days are long, the sun moving slowly across the sky and hanging at the edge of the earth for stretched out moments, giving us a chance to put our hands on our hips and say “what a perfect night.”

It’s summer now and before dark officially falls we ride to the hilltops and then down through the cool draws where the shade and the grass and the creek bed always keep a cool spot for us.

Because it’s summer now and things are warming up. The leaves are out and so are the wildflowers, stretching and blooming and taking in the fleeting weather. It’s summer so we pick a handful of wild yellow daisies and purple lady slippers and paintbrushes and sweet clover for the mason jar on our windowsill and we know these aren’t their proper names but that’s what our grandparents called them so that’s what they are to us.

It’s summer now and the cows are home and so is my husband, home before the sun sets. Home to get on a horse and ride fence lines.

It’s summer now and the dogs’ tongues hang out while they make their way to the spot of shade on the gravel where the truck is parked. They are panting. They are smiling. They just got in from a swim.

Because it’s summer now and the water where the slick-backed horses drink, twitching and swiping their tails at flies, is warm and rippling behind the oars of the water bugs, the paddle of duck’s feet, the leap of a frog and the dunk of a beaver’s escape.

It’s summer and the kids are throwing rocks in that water and watching for those frogs. It’s summer and their knees are scraped and their cheeks are rosy and the hair that’s turning blonde in the sun is forming ringlets around their faces poking up out t-ball jerseys and mismatched swimsuits and tank tops smeared in dirt and sidewalk chalk and orange popsicle juice and bug spray.

And it’s summer now and we keep the windows open so even when we’re inside we’re not really inside.

We can’t be inside.

Because it’s summer now and there’s work to be done. We say this as we stand leaning up against a fence post, thinking maybe if we finish the chores we could squeeze in time for fishing.

Because it’s summer and we heard they’re biting.

Yes, it’s summer and we should mow the grass before the clouds bring the thunderstorm that will wake us in the early morning hours of the next day. And it’s summer so we will lay there with those windows open listening to it roll and crack, feeling how the electricity makes our hearts thump and the air damp on our skin. Maybe we will sleep again, maybe we’ll rise to stand by the window and watch the lightning strike and wonder where this beautiful and mysterious season comes from.

And why, like the storm, it’s always just passing through.

Mason Jar Ice Cream
Summer calls for ice cream, and, if you ask for summer memories out on the farm or ranch, so many of them are attached to the act of not only eating, but making ice cream. Back before everyone had a deep freezer, ice was chipped from the river or the low spots on the prairie and used to make the sweet treat. These days, even with the Schwan’s man at our service, there’s nostalgia attached to the process

In a mason jar with a lid add:
1 cup heavy whipping cream

1 tsp vanilla

Dash of salt

1 tbsp sugar
Add sprinkles and a couple drops of food coloring to make it festive

Screw on lid and shake for five minutes. Freeze for three hours.