As we pass the baton from summer to fall, I’ve taken a couple of weeks off to think back on (and recover from) all that has happened in our little home and homeschool these past few months. It was a whirlwind of a summer bursting with life . . . a little too much life if I’m being totally honest.
There were Skill School days galore, nature adventures, art projects, and days upon days of gardening (with quite literally hundreds of pounds of pumpkins, tomatoes, cucumbers, and green beans to show for it). The long days gave us unthinkably late nights, and . . . consequently, even later mornings in penance.
It was a summer of voracious learning and exploring,
hard work and wild play,
stacks of books and mountains of herbs,
a summer of sunshine and rain (often at the same time).
It was a summer of warring heavens;
smoke soup skies battling it out against the brilliant mountain valley blue.
A summer of huckleberries and hot dogs,
farmer’s market and the county fair,
bruschetta and endless iced tea.
It was a summer of alfalfa tromping,
and lavender harvesting.
A summer of hiking boots,
and midnight deer chases to save the butternut squash.
It was a dirt-under-your-fingernails kind of summer;
the days long,
the work load heavy,
the pleasures simple and rich,
the vocations old, forgotten, and many.
Admittedly, I both over planned and underestimated this summer. Just as I neglected to leave enough space between the nasturtiums and my butternut squash, I didn’t leave as much breathing room in our summer days as I should have. Don’t get me wrong, it was beautiful. Just . . . wild. The squash overtook the nasturtiums and I finally had to weed them out altogether. The tomato bushes outgrew their cages long before summer’s end, vines breaking under the weight of bright red, orange, and purple-black fruit.
Our days went much the same way.
No matter how much salsa I made and froze, there was always another beautiful basket of tomatoes waiting on the kitchen counter. The same went for summer activities. No matter how many cucumbers we gave away, the next day’s harvest mistook our desperation for generosity. The same went for summer adventuring.
Somehow I always underestimate little seedlings and how much room they will need to stretch, grow, and yield harvest in a single summer. Especially when those little seedlings are in human form.
Our long winters here in mountain valley can make a mama frantic for summer and tempt her to overplant in the spring.
We mountain mamas (whether literal or not) must learn to trust even through the droves of snow that summer will be lovely and warm and full.
We must trust that summer will be enough. That it will amply sustain us through the winter months.
A note to self to weather next summer’s storm.
Thanks for reading!
Love, ~Our Holistic Homeschool~