In The Wash Of A Summer Rain

This, over a handful of August days

The birds are sleeping in this morning. It’s twenty past five and outside is silent, save for the gurgling of the creek. Perhaps it’s the shift of August, where night seeps a little further into day, letting dawn arrive later than she did a month ago. Perhaps it’s the front that’s moved in, having sent a message saying, Tuck in for the storm. Perhaps it’s the nest feeling just right, and under the wing is warm and cosy and those birds just need another hour. 

I’m with them. There’s something about tucking in for the storm (there’s something about needing another hour). A string of rainy days in deep summer is a gracious interlude, a welcome pause. When the momentary ease of summer’s heat lets you turn the oven on, take the zucchini that’s been still life-ing on the dining table, and bake a loaf of zucchini bread - the kind that’s “tall, so crunchy you can rap on it like a loaf of bread, and epic, with two full cups of packed zucchini inside.” 

When you pretend, too, that you’re in the kitchen with Ina and Emily, making bolognese. I’ll tie my linen apron on over my blouse with the most “impractical sleeves” and make a beef version, using as many local ingredients as possible (plus that tube of tomato paste that’s been waiting on my pantry shelf for such a time as this). 

There are also peaches. An entire box of them, ripening on the larder table. I bought them from Pete, the young, passionate fruit farmer who comes every summer from Washington. “They were just picked,” he said. “Give them a couple days to ripen and you’ll be eating them over the kitchen sink.” Perhaps I’ll also be canning them over the stove. 

Between sending and receiving emails with design project details, between drafting and product sourcing, between the work-work, I’ll slip in a bit of play-work, too, my sewing machine whirring away at hemming four sides each of the rectangles cut from the vintage table cloth I forgot I had. The one that’s linen, woven with white and golden yellow threads, the one that’s not perfect for any table I own, but is perfect for becoming napkins for the get-away kit. 

This, over a handful of August days. This, in the wash of a summer rain. 

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Ah, loves. Sometimes you write a post like this, and have the plans all in place to go along with an open stretch of days, then life steps in and adjusts your course completely. This is okay. Put the zucchini in the fridge to keep a few days longer, for bread then instead of now. Share those drippy, luscious peaches with friends, while they’re fresh (instead of later, in the jar). And know that that little dreamy sewing project will keep just fine until another rainy day.

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