Here we are in the middle of the year, in the middle of summer—this month of July. I tend to wish away July when the temperatures rise, when the humidity causes so much discomfort, and when bugs are bugging humans animals, and plants. Oh, and also when the deer jump our garden fence and eat the beans, beets, and peppers. The first half of the month was hot and sticky—and I realize that relative to the rest of the country, we have it easy. Just as I was wondering how to navigate the humid days of summer, we got a blast of welcome relief from cooler Canadian air. The last two weeks have been glorious summer days—days I am not wishing away! Looking over my photographs of July, I realized that our month could be told in a series of little stories. There is the two-sided story of the deer—the nemesis of Chris and his ‘fight’ to save our hostas, trees, and other plants from being devoured by our cloven-hoofed friends as opposed to the beauty of spotted fawns with their mamas.
I saw one small fawn by itself one evening, just standing in the driveway, looking back and forth between the barking dog in the house and the sound of people walking down the street. No mama was in sight. Another day, a fawn hid behind the grass by the blueberries—again without its mama. It’s unusual to see such a young one without its mother close by, and I wondered if she had been killed somehow. Poor, cute baby.
July holds the story of blooming things. The garden vegetables—peppers, tomatoes, green beans, and cucumbers—are flowering and beginning to grow their fruit. Hosta flowers are in wild abundance, much to the happiness and satiety of the hummingbirds.
Carpets of thyme are covered with purple blooms, and annual zinnias are bright and inviting to the butterflies.
There is the story of time on the lake with friends—delicious in-the-moment time when the look and feel of the water and wind make every cell in your body feel alive. It is the story of Minnesota where pines and loons represent our state.
The story of the Lake is not complete without Cattails, Yellow Pond Lilies, and spiders who take advantage of a corner of a dock to capture a plethora of insects that hover around the water.
There are the summer stories of friends and relatives around a fire on the patio.
The stories of Sunlight and Moonlight fall on the moss of trees, the burbling creek water, and the tall oaks of the forest.
July stories told in snapshots are added to the album of Summer and then to the bigger albums of our year and life. I like how the photographs open those albums, how they illustrate a part of the story, and how they reveal elements that may not have been noticed before. So often—like the deer story—there is a little story within the bigger one. It also illustrates how there can be different feelings and thoughts about a situation, not only from different people, but even within one person. Our personal stories, seen through the snapshot of a photo or memory, are limited, however; we don’t see what’s happening off camera or have all the pertinent information. But a photo and story are also gifts to every one of us—they remind us of the beauty and goodness of life. They make us remember not to take people or things for granted. They instill in us the preciousness of time. What are your July stories? What delicious moments in time have you had this summer? And are you ready for a new story to unfold in each new day?
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