I sat on the deck of our “glamping” tent/cabin the other night at dusk, daring myself to finish a heel flap and turn before the last of the sunlight abandoned my needles, leaving me to tend with stardust alone. I listened to the peepers and bullfrogs, coming alive along the lake. The last flame’s of Reed’s Smores-Campfire crackled as resonances of bedtime filtered in from the adjacent campsites. Reed was snoring softly by now, tuckered from our day of paddling and playing on the lake. He occupied himself with fishing for trout that were ever-evasive and meeting new little friends from far away lands (Oakland!). I knew I was pushing the light situation by the time I reached the heel flap, but I went for it. What can I say? I’m reckless in this regard. (Did I mention my yarn was dark brown? No help at all!)
As I knit, my thoughts drifted to this time a year ago and all the days in between. Moments ago, I reread that post and feel I could write those same words again today. Just last week, I told Reed we need to plant another round of sunflowers, and my hanging baskets look even more pitiful this year than last. If it weren’t for Reed himself, steeped in that miraculous stage of childhood where they grow and develop so much EVERY DAY that I am in a constant state of shock when I realize all that he comprehends and expresses. It baffles me how one moment Reed and I can be tangled up in a complex conversation about something abstract like refugees, which he seems to actually understand…yet the next moment we are just as absorbed in a lengthy negotiation about teeth brushing , which he invariably seems to win.
We camped our little hearts out this summer. Four trips! The last of the camping gear is hovering in my kitchen, waiting for me to tuck the now-clean dishes away in storage for next year’s adventures. After that, maybe I will go out and plant those sunflower seeds after all to guarantee myself bright blooms into October.
In the meantime, I did survive that in-the-dark heel turn. I am in total awe of those of you brave enough to be habitual move theatre knitters. Inspection of my work in the morning light revealed a botched-final row, easy enough to tink back and fix. I lucked out.
There’s two full weekends left in August, and I hope to fill them with as much river and pool time as possible. After that, it’s fall (even though it’s not technically fall and the weather is still quite pleasant for the entire month). I love to watch Reed revel in summertime. Those long hours of daylight inspire busyness and, of course, mischief. I am trying to treasure them. I really am.
Just as long as he doesn’t unravel my socks…
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