Summer Rituals

She doesn't know this, but my niece inspired me to post my ideas that have been sitting in my draft box almost all summer--my post entitled, "Summer Rituals." After all, as she has pointed out, it is still summer for a few more days, and we might as well enjoy it to its fullest. And summer is truly "my time," not only because as a teacher I enjoy this time of year like no other, but also because I was born in the late summer, less than a week before autumn begins. Each year I lose not quite two months of summer because, anymore, teachers have to go back to school at the end of July. Starting school after Labor Day is a thing of the past for me, but the habits engrained in my childhood have set my clock this way nonetheless, such that it seems almost morally wrong to go back to school during summer. Yet, August is so hot, who wants to be outside anyway? But all the things I feel so passionate about in the summer seem to mock me the rest of the year, and I let go with extreme reluctance and a keen sense of regret tinged with promise for "next summer." During the year, I give these favorite things a slight nod if I even see them at all, once the tunnel vision of the schoolyear caves me in.

But here is my list, and posting it feels a bit like reading E. B. White's essays, "Once More to the Lake" and "The Ring of Time." Each year that passes forbids me from fulfilling my rituals exactly as I have in the past, even as it brings me a delicious new sense of nostalgic déjà vu. The first thing I wrote for my summer rituals was "climbing the spiritual mountains with God." I don't really ever have the opportunity to go hiking with anyone like we did on vacations when I was young, but I have found the secret of escaping deep into the forest of God's Word and disengaging from the world far, far away into the clear, cool air of God's promises as fulfilled to me throughout the year. I suppose you would call this meditation, but it's not anything weird or spooky. On the contrary, it is immensely exhilarating as I am allowed to spend hour after hour on my balcony porch just reading devotional literature and poring over God's Word. Intermixed in all these thoughts is longing and prayer--complete with vivid thoughts of loved ones I wish were near but who have now slipped into glory.

This ritual detoxes me from the stress of school as nothing else can do. But I like to escape from mornings like this into afternoons on my patio working among my flowers. Every summer, I dump out the dead and crusty flowers that died the year before and plant new ones. For someone who loves to make things clean, I enjoy every bit of getting dirty as I dig among the soil (complete with gloves) and think about Jesus the Gardener and all the beauty He has created. There is nothing quite like working with nature to blow the dust out of my mind and get me--for lack of a better phrase--back down to earth. I love to feel the sun beaming on me and the birds singing gloriously all day long as I pat rich soil into place, snip off dead flowers (I try to rescue as many plants as I can from the clearance racks and see them perk up into new life), and water my happy new flowers that peer up at me like children's faces.

Before this, I make sure I have scrubbed my patio and my balcony porch as rigorously as I am able to remove all the grunge that has accumulated from spring pollen and who knows what else. This in itself is a backbreaking task that takes several days sometimes. Rubber gloves, white vinegar in a bucket of cold water, and a scrub brush, and back and forth we go until things are dripping with cleanliness. The flowers are the last touch--my reward for enduring all the grit. Every other summer I also repaint the patio furniture, and this summer I also painted the wood furniture on my balcony porch because carpenter bees were invading one piece and also because the weather was warping others.

The yellow on the coffee tables and rockers is called "Summer Squash," and the yellow on the metal table and chairs is some cheap paint from Big Lots that I bought only to save money. At first I hated it, but my neighbor down the hill hollered out to me that she loved it, and all of a sudden, opening my side door onto the patio, I loved it, too. Even my brother-in-law said he loved it. My other neighbor has informed me more than once that she hates yellow. She also has informed me that she hates hanging flowers because they look tacky (those are her stepping stones resting against my fence). I just grin and say, "Well, you don't have to look at them." But I love, love, love hanging flowers. And I love, love, love yellow. After all, isn't that the color of sunshine and the very essence of summer?

I love to imagine that I have a slice of English countryside in my little patio with my cozy brick house. And on my glider, as I read an old-fashioned Grace Livingston Hill novel where the characters are clothed in 1930s attire and live by rugged virtue, I can dream that anything is possible. I like to have my morning coffee on this glider as I read my Bible and my devotional books. Sometimes the sun on my balcony porch is too direct and hits me right in the eye. I also enjoy watching my neighbor tinkering in her yard. She faithfully snips this and pampers that almost like Miss Maudie in Harper Lee's To Kill a Mockingbird. She knows she can stick her head over the fence at any time and hand me some funny news article. The most recent one she hung on my flowerpot was about a library filled with bats. Hmmm. No, thank you!

Another summer ritual is deep-cleaning my house which means moving everything that can possibly be moved, cleaning every slat of the miniblinds, vacuuming curtains or tumbling them in the dryer, and all the things that mean reorganizing and rearranging. I don't like to do things the same way twice. I guess I get that from changing my lesson plans each year--keeping it fresh. There is nothing cozier than snuggling down at night in a freshly cleaned room with a good book and then falling asleep with the light on, only to wake up and turn it off, knowing I don't have to worry about my alarm clock.

Summer Sundays are the best of all. Not only can I get back in touch with my spirit and feel connected to life instead of just to my job--which is extremely demanding physically, mentally, and emotionally all year--but I can spend unhurried time with family both present and absent. I can pore over photo albums and let my memories resurface from somewhere deep in my psyche. I can study my scrapbooks and mementos of the sacred past and bask in thoughts of yesteryear. Sometimes this is too depressing, for not all the memories are pleasant. Old hurts and broken dreams have a way of working themselves up from the soil like a lost ball that suddenly resurfaces in the flowerbed when you're sure it wasn't there yesterday.

I would be remiss not to mention one of my favorite pastimes any time of the year, and that is haunting antique stores. But I also like to weed out my drawers and closets and donate clothes to charity, while also updating my wardrobe with things that work better. Reconnecting with old friends and eating lunch together as we talk way past any mealtime hour is especially healing and meaningful. And then on summer evenings, I can sit on my balcony porch as the moon rises and listen to the quiet sounds of evening as fireflies stroke the darkness with bleeps of light. But if I had to choose one thing I could not do without in all the beauty that surrounds me, it would have to be the songbirds. These are like little friends who allow me time to heal and just time to be. I hope that they come back after I have had to cut down my tree. You can hear them in this video from the summer of 2024: https://photos.app.goo.gl/oNTtyhDxpd8KxETR7

And you can hear them at night the week I had to cut down my glorious southern red oak tree:

https://photos.app.goo.gl/7wNutoxM1XN6Ec4D9 Sadly, this summer didn't hold as many rituals for me, as more than one crisis of decision and moment of danger held life at bay. How nice it would be if I could carry summer with me all throughout the year, for summer holds not only the promise of happiness but of true rest for all eternity.