August

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When I’m writing, I think I should be fishing or at the farm. When I’m at the farm, I think I should be writing or fishing. When I’m fishing, I think I should be writing or at the farm. Then there’s wood to stack, fish to process, berries to pick, a boat to maintain, friends to hang out with, camping trips to squeeze in… This time of year we put the proverbial headless chicken to shame. I’m not complaining, either. I love all of it. It just feels like I’m careening around in a kind of sleep-deprived mania. Which I am.

The kids, though, are the antidote. They remind me to stop, catch my breath, and soak up the beauty of summer in the Pacific Northwest. This is a picture of Weston, on the way back from picking up the mail, stopping to watch the little Douglas squirrels chase each other around an old alder snag. I was rushing along, already focused on the next task, and the one after that…and then there was this. Just a brief moment of grace to feel the sun on our faces and watch what goes on in the forest.

It was perfect.

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