Living in Michigan, summers are valuable and fleeting. We can reliably count on a solid 3 months of good weather – some years more, some years less – and that good weather comes after months of cold. I love autumn, and the time between Halloween and Christmas, when hygge coziness is in full effect. I despise January thru early April, but understand that maybe I wouldn’t love summer as much as I do without the contrasting months of cold and dark.

Summertime means long days, light until well after 9pm. It means hearing the deep tones of the wind chimes through windows open to catch an occasional breeze. It means gaining an extra room in our house, because we spend so much time on the front porch, with snacks, books, evening drinks, morning coffees, my knitting. Saying hello to neighbors passing by with kids in strollers or walking their dogs.

It means morning running and coming home sweaty to putter around with the hose, watering my flowers and filling the bird bath and then sitting for awhile in the sunshine to cool down.

It means the Tour de France! 21 stages of complete absorption in the world of cycling, several hours a day of watching and more hours spent listening to the podcasts analyzing each stage.

It means long drives to the west side of the state, busy roads becoming more rural and enclosed with greenery, to take the kid to her twelve-day music and art camp and then pick her up. Sitting in the shell with the sun on my neck on that final Sunday listening to the kids perform their musical selections (usually with sock knitting on my lap).

Summer means knowing that it is a season that won’t last and doing everything you can to soak up that sunshine and heat and store it in your bones so you have no regrets when the darkness returns.