The Essence of August

August has a very certain feel to it.

Everything looks a certain way, feels a certain way, smells a certain way.

A way I can't really define.

I suppose one could say that all months have their certain "feel" to them, and I guess that would be true. June is such a "ramp up" month where we excitedly dig out swimsuits and begin summer rituals and make big plans and watch the rows in the garden each take their own shape. July is the heat of it; busy, busy, busy making summer happen and with the endless weeding of the garden until the very last day of the month where the past 31 days feel both short and long, exhilerating and exhausting all at the same time.

Then August sneaks up on us......every.single.year.  And almost instantly, I can feel it - a certain richness, a certain bittersweet harmony, a certain satisfied longing. The crickets start to chirp. The cicadas start to buzz. The edge of summer softens. And I can only seem to describe the "feel" of this time of year as ripe. Ripe with the fullness of summertime memories. Ripe with expectations for the upcoming fall. Ripe with cool mornings, warm afternoons, and glowing evenings.

And because we feel the waning of summer at hand, we soak up a bit more of the days knowing they are numbered. We close off the hurry and take "just one more" trip to the pool, "just one more" trip to the beach, "just one more" ice cream cone, "just one more" watermelon, "just one more".......day....

Ripeness shows itself everywhere in the garden, as well, as everything puts their all into giving fruit before dying. Reaching stems, creeping vines, thirsty roots, vibrant leaves all reaching, stretching, bending to soak it up, take it in, and use it to produce, to give. And suddenly a handful of seeds scratched into the dirt only a few months ago becomes buckets and barrels and jars of nourishment and of hope for the future.

And maybe this is what I feel in that final month of summer (those 20-some days in September never really counting). Maybe it is the keen awareness of my call to reach, stretch, and bend in order to soak it up and take it in to pass it on because before we know it, it's over.

August is over.

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Whatever laments I made over the lack of interest my tots showed in the spring have been quickly forgotten by their endless enthusiasm in the garden now.

The little girl could spend hours out there. All I have to do is give her a bucket and permission to pick anything she thinks is ripe.

The little boy loves to excitedly run from row to row pointing out everything he notices and declaring his finds in an endlessly loud voice.

This time of year our meals end up being concoctions of whatever we found in the garden that day, and our current favorite is an easy to throw together, one skillet kind of meal with heaps of veggies, oregano fresh from the garden, and pasta.

And cucumbers. What does one do with an endless supply of cucumbers?

We continue to preserve and store up just as much as we can. No one told me food preservation was so addicting, but it is and I may or may not need rehab.

{I know, it's out of focus. But isn't he cute?}

A wet year has left us with an abundance of slimy critters to catch and torture admire. (No animals were intentionally injured. Those little hands just tend to be a bit over-zealous in their exploration.)

I remember loving catching frogs and toads and worms as a girl, but somewhere along the line of "growing up" I developed an aversion to actually touching these things now. So in order to help my tots explore and learn to love this smaller world, I swallow hard, paint a smile on my face, whisper "stop being such a ninny" to myself, and thrust out my hand.

Frogs jump fast and far, but I've caught them. Salamanders are surprising muscular and aggressive, but I've ushered them out of the kids' fence. Toads must have nervous bladders, but I just wiped my hand on the grass and said "Here! You try holding him."  And worms? Well, the worms in my compost are quite impressive. And they happen to by my kids' favorite gross animal. So I've plunged my hand into composting kitchen and garden scraps more times than I can count in order to land one of our happy and overfed "night crawlers."

And that's August, my friends. Catching critters and getting lost in the garden and preserving food late into the night and taking in every second.

Exit summer. Enter Autumn.

The mornings and evenings are getting crisp. I've still got a pail of apples to process. Salsa making season has begun. The squash are starting to get ripe. I'm running out of canning jars.

September has a certain feel to it, too. 

Linking up to KinderGARDENS.