Here we are well into August and that, of course, means that here in New Hampshire we have roughly 17 minutes left of summer before the nights turn cold and we go into glorious fall (and yes, fall is the reason why anyone chooses to live in NH.)
The kids are done with swim team (their team came in first for Div I in the States meet this past weekend), dinners consist of grilled meats matched with local produce gotten for change at farm stands down the street – flowers, the standard centerpiece, and half finished beach stained, sand encrusted books are dug out of canvas bags to be finished on lawn chairs in the back, cold beer by side.
The animals seem to sense this pause, the rabbit lolls in the shade lifting an ear only when someone walks by, the dogs usually our hyper-attentive guards are happy instead to only rise to their feet when they hear a knock at the door, and the chickens spend hours sitting in dappled spots of sun with eyes closed dreaming of cracked corn and Christmas suet cakes.
August is a time of reprieve, the deepest of summer, a lovely break heavy infused with calm. A time when we can exhale from the chaos which was July and focus on where we are and what now needs to be done.