Summer loves

The calendar has flipped to June. The string of commencement ceremonies around town is drawing to a close. This week, I placed my annual summer tea order from the Republic of Tea (ginger peach + blackberry sage). I have folded away my heavier sweaters, dug out my sandals and breezy cotton skirts.

Summer is here. Say it with me: Ahhhh.

I grew up in a place where summer is the longest season, where it’s not unusual to find temperatures in the 80s and even 90s from mid-March to the end of October. During a visit to my hometown this spring, I had to borrow a pair of shorts from my sister. I hadn’t packed any, because March in Boston is the middle-end of winter, and it is almost impossible to imagine wanting to bare your legs to the sun, should it ever appear. I knew I could count on cold temps and chill winds for weeks after I returned.

After nearly three years in the Northeast, I have learned to long for summer – and to celebrate it to the hilt when it finally arrives.

We kicked off summer with a Memorial Day trip to the North Shore, to eat lunch al fresco and spend an afternoon wandering around Salem. Later that week, we seized the opportunity for a North End dinner with a dear friend from Texas: big plates of pasta and cold glasses of sangria, eaten on a patio strung with twinkle lights.

We are also eating dinner on our own patio whenever possible (though not this weekend, because it’s raining). We begin with lemonade, end with ice cream or frozen yogurt. I have started my balcony garden: basil, mint, a red geranium. Abi and I are planning to split a flat of cherry tomato plants. And I am anticipating trips to the farmer’s market, which opens next week.

Some of the summer pleasures I reveled in as a kid have disappeared in adulthood: long days at the pool and road trips to visit family have all but vanished. But summer still means vacations, fireworks, picnics, cookouts, time with family and friends. These days, it also means an occasional evening at Fenway, cheering on the Red Sox (or, when they are in town, the Texas Rangers). It means making plans to celebrate our anniversary at the end of June. It has always meant – and still means – stacks of summer reading. (To be fair, every season means reading to me.)

Since we’re no longer students (and we don’t have kids), summer doesn’t entirely upend our routine. The rhythm of work and commuting, dishes and laundry, dinner and downtime and the New York Times crossword, continues. But the sudden infusion of sunshine, the longer, lighter evenings, signal a hundred little shifts.

We go barefoot around the house, and I wear sandals to work. We buy tomatoes by the dozen, pile the grocery cart with fruit. We linger over our bowls of pasta or curry, and some nights we walk down to the beach. We run ceiling fans and keep the windows open. We watch the sunsets and revel in the flowers bursting out everywhere. We drink in the season of abundance, of warmth and ease and light.

How are you celebrating summer?

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