Free Summer Shenanigans

Scrolling through social media can quickly convince me that despite the high prices of fuel and everything else, everyone except me is enjoying a wonderful vacation. Everybody we know is taking in scenic new sights, camping at a lovely beach, or relaxing at the cabin while hubby and I stay in little old Portage la Prairie, working away.

I know that’s not true. But maybe you’ve felt like you’re the only one who’s not getting to do all the fun stuff. I thought I’d share some things I’ve enjoyed this summer right here at home—or mostly at home.

Have you checked out the duck pond at Island Park recently? Wow! With its three fountains, a waterfall on one end, and the platform bridge on the other, this creation is an absolute piece of heaven on earth. I’ve taken to sitting on a bench and simply staring. The beauty of the flowers and the trickling of the water soothe my soul and mind. Kudos to our local Rotary Club, the City of Portage, Norquay Nurseries, and anyone else who’s had a hand in making this little miracle happen. Well done!

Our ten-year-old grandson slept over recently. Since it was an unplanned stay, he wasn’t equipped for swimming. But sometimes grandmas have to spoil a bit, right? We walked to Red Apple and bought him some new trunks, swung around to Mike’s Grocery for ice cream cones on our way back, and then checked out the splash pad at Simplot Park. What a delightful way to cool off on a hot summer day! Again, many thanks to our city’s Parks Committee, Simplot, and all the volunteers who worked so hard to create this terrific play space for our community.

This one wasn’t “free,” but Hubby and I took our son and his family to see Manitoba’s Passion Play at LaRiviere. The production celebrated its twenty-first year this summer, although I don’t know if that includes the pandemic years or not. We hadn’t gone in ages, so the live orchestra was new to us and a brilliant addition. The wonderful production in their gorgeous outdoor setting held the boys’ attention surprisingly well. We enjoyed perfect weather and no mosquitoes with an exciting drive home through a wild thunderstorm. Glad I wasn’t driving! It’s too late to take in the event this year, but I highly recommend it for next time. You can find information on dates and prices on their website, www.passionplay.ca or follow them on Facebook or Instagram.

I also ventured out for some wild sasktoon-picking one Saturdaymorning. Doused in bug repellent, I wasn’t bothered by mosquitoes but found the berries quite sparse. While in the bush, I was startled by the sudden crashing of a large animal taking off from its nearby hiding place. Although I didn’t actually see it, I sure hope it was a deer. Not sure what I’d have done if I’d found myself face to face with a bear. Throw berries in its face? Whatever it was, the ruckus flushed up some really pretty birds, so there’s that. All in all, the hour or two provided all the communion with nature I need until next year. I ended up with enough berries for two dozen muffins plus two servings with ice cream.

If all that’s not enough, I’m happy to sit on my deck with my nose in a good book and a cool drink within reach.

How about you?

 

Summah, Summah, Summah

Can someone please explain why it takes seven years to crawl through January but summer races by in seven days?

We’ve never been much for taking trips or camping, but it’s been a lovely summer here at home.

The Love Shack

I am blessed with a cozy and colourful writing space in my home, but it’s hard to focus when every time you walk away from your desk, you see jobs to be done. Right? So I carved out a two-day writing retreat for myself in my sister and brother-in-law’s “Love Shack.” It’s a gorgeous screened-in log hut they built beneath the trees in their park-like yard in the country. Wendy and Dale are incredibly hospitable. They cooked for me and pampered me, took me to the beach when it became too hot to work, and helped me try kayaking for the first time. (I am certifiably as athletic as a doorknob, so the fact that I didn’t capsize tells me I should quit while ahead.)

They ran power to the Love Shack so I could work on my laptop, mosquito-free and with a serene view of the birds and their feeders. When I returned home, my second novel was 10,000 words longer than when I arrived. And you can’t beat the price!

I told Dale and Wendy they should go into business as a bed and breakfast for authors and that I may want to repeat this every summer.

The Replacements

I’ve been relaxing on our deck(beneath the fake flowers) reading the script for “Arsenic and Old Lace” in which I’ll play “Elaine” with the Prairie Players in November. Our director called to inform me she recast the leading man (who plays my character’s love interest) because he’s being transferred out of town. 

The next day, I received an email from the Femfest producer in Winnipeg letting me know one of the actors in my play, “Irony: A Tragic Comedy about Life and Death,” has been recast as well.

“This does not bode well for you,” I told my husband. “All the leading men in my life are being replaced.”

He was not amused.

Why don’t our family members find us funny? Our kids used to roll their eyes at my attempted humour. When they matured, they generously began allotting me about one “Good one, Mom” per month. But laughter? Forget it. That’s a prize my husband reserves for the truly hysterical, like Garfield. Sometimes when he’s reading the Herald Leader and I hear him chuckling, I look over his shoulder to see if he’s enjoying my column.

But no. He’s on the comics page. Sigh.

The Flowers

Well, it’s official. I am an old lady.

I always said I’d know I was old when I put fake flowers in my yard, and that day has arrived. But doggone it, what choice did I have? In spite of all my religious watering and dead-heading of petunias all summer, most of them looked spindly and ugly by mid-August. What’s up with that? After I pulled them out, one pot was left with nothing but bright green sweet potato vine, which still looked great. So I threw in some fake purple and orange daisies for color. 

Next step: saving scraps of used Saran Wrap.

An Excellent Western Carnival

Many thanks to Portage Evangelical Church for another terrific carnival on Saturday. Our grandsons loved it! God bless you for giving this free gift of family fun to your community. I wouldn’t want to add up the man-hours involved!

I hope your summer has been perfectly delightful and that you’ve been able to do some of the things you enjoy with people you love at a price you can afford.

Battle of the Senses

While I reflected on how much I love our precious, fleeting summers, my five senses entered into a philosophical debate about which has the most to lose once summer bids farewell. 

As usual, my mouth started it. “The rest of you can only hope to fathom the awesomeness of summer,” it said. “You’ll never sink your teeth into cool watermelon or snap into a juicy carrot fresh from the garden or dig into a buttered cob of sweet corn. You can’t imagine the refreshment of a cool drink after a day of work in the sun, or the bliss of sharing a Popsicle with someone you love. And don’t even get me started on ripe strawberries, new potatoes, juicy peaches, or home-grown tomatoes. I’m watering just thinking about it!” 

My eyes begged to differ. “You have no idea,” they said. “You’ve never seen a little girl in a sundress or children making sand castles on the beach. You can’t see the 50 shades of green framed by the picture window, or the vivid reds, oranges, and yellows of nasturtiums, the purples and pinks of pansies and petunias. You can’t imagine the splendor of sailboats on the sparkling lake or the brilliance of a canola field in glorious, golden bloom, or a lady’s bright pink toenails on tanned and sandaled feet. And how do I begin to explain a rainbow? Or fireworks bursting against the black sky?”

That’s when my ears chimed in. “Fireworks? A racket, if you ask me. But then you can’t hear what I hear. From the early morning melodies of hundreds of birds to the late-night chirping of bullfrogs and crickets, summer is kind to me. I wish you could hear the laughter and splashing around a kiddie pool, the delicate buzz of a bee pollinating the hydrangeas, the goofy chatter of squirrels, the crack of a bat against a baseball, rain tapping on the window, or the delights of an open-air concert in the park. You’ll never know the joy an ice-cream truck’s tinny tune offers. Even the roar of a lawn mower and the snap-snap-snapping of flip-flops on feet are music to me.”

At the mention of feet, my nose couldn’t stop twitching. “Are you kidding me? I knows I’ve got the best of it and if you’d ever smelled lilacs in full bloom, you would knows it too. Not to mention the scent of roses, lilies, or freshly cut grass. Of course, all these smells are intensified after a rain. And that’s not all! You can’t imagine the earthy fragrance of fresh garden beets simmering in the kitchen, the tantalizing aroma of steaks grilling in the neighbourhood, or the comforting scent of sheets dried outdoors. Why, I even like the coconutty smell of sun screen!”

My Sense of Touch felt drawn into the discussion, too. “You all make me laugh. The rest of you are limited to one receptor, or two at most. But me! I can feel with hands, feet, everything! You haven’t lived until you’ve felt warm sand or lush grass under bare feet. You can’t possibly understand the soothing warmth of sunshine on skin or the utter relief of a gentle breeze on a hot day. You’ll never experience the refreshing shock of plunging your hot body into a pool of cold water, or be rocked gently to sleep in a hammock, or embrace the heat of a campfire after dark.”

My senses continued to argue, trying to outdo each other, but I tuned them out. I know it’s me who is the lucky one. I’m privileged to enjoy summer using all five senses when even just one would be amazing and worthy of my gratitude. “Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights...” James 1:17

Hope you’re absorbing summer in every sense of the word!

What Happened to Spring?

Is it just me, or did we skip an entire season? Seems we went straight from winter to summer, and now the blossoming trees and shrubs are scrambling into overdrive, trying to catch up with the calendar. Please don’t hear this as complaining; I’m thrilled the weather finally warmed after most of us had lost hope. But it’s easier on the constitution when we’re phased in with a few gentle spring breezes instead of jumping from zero to thirty in sixty seconds. 

Too bad the mosquitoes didn’t miss any clues.

Doing everything the hard way

If there’s a stupider way to do a yard project, I tend to find it. I wanted to turn a 55-foot strip of crushed rock along our side fence into a lovely row of something—something with a little more life than all that stone and the weeds that manage to poke through it. Since my sister had hosta plants to share, I figured they’d do nicely. This meant raking as much of the crushed rock onto the driveway as I could manage, then jumping on a shovel like a jackhammer to dig holes through the remaining six inches of gravel. Rattled a few teeth loose, I think.

When I had all 14 holes dug and was ready to haul soil from our city’s composting yard, hubby was gone with both his truck and his muscles. So I made three trips to the composting yard in my car, using several two-gallon buckets because that’s all the weight my wimpiness could manage.

The next afternoon, I set out to lay landscaping fabric along this 55-foot strip. On the windiest day of the year. But if I waited for calmer weather the poor little hostas, already uprooted from their former bed, would surely die. Now I understand the pressure heart transplant surgeons are under.

Working with landscaping fabric in the wind reminded me of trying to change a diaper on a toddler fresh from his nap and raring to go. Every time I’d place part of it down, another part would billow up like it was ready to set sail. At one point, holding on tight, I went parasailing down the street and ended up two blocks over. 

By the time my hostas were planted and the fabric covered with cedar mulch, I was too cranky to speak nicely to them. Folks tell me all I have to do now is water them. We’ll see.

In praise of clotheslines

Now that summer’s here, I’m enjoying the benefits of a clothesline after eleven years without one. While the kids were growing, two clotheslines graced our country yard—an umbrella type and a pulley type. We faithfully filled them both three times a week. It saved money on power and everything smelled wonderful. 

But our next move landed us in a trailer park where they forbade clotheslines (which I never could figure out) and the next move was into a rented house without one. So when we purchased our home last summer, I was delighted to discover an umbrella clothesline in the backyard. Using it makes me feel all pioneersy and wholesome. Mind you, I still run most of the clothes through a cold fluff cycle with a fabric softener sheet afterwards. Can’t have hubby walking around stiff-legged and chafing.

John Steinbeck wrote, “What good is the warmth of summer, without the cold of winter to give it sweetness?” 

I suppose he had a point. But I could handle summer weather all year ‘round and still find it pretty dang sweet. Couldn’t you?