As Donna Fargo would say, “I’m the happiest girl in the whole U.S.A.” That is exactly how I feel when summer finally arrives.
Every year when I celebrate the June solstice and move into the days of high summer, I am once again astonished by how deeply I am connected to earth and wed to the sun. Days in my garden surrounded by the perfume of my childhood, forays into the hedge and woods where I find myself enchanted by ground lilies, trillium and the miniscule structure of moss, walking miles of beach, combing for gifts from the Great Gitche Gumee—I am more physically and spiritually alive than any other time of the year.
For a pantheist leaning, ecology protecting advocate, my affinity for the season of summer feels a bit like having a favorite child—complete with the attending guilt. But try as I might I just can’t manifest the same, deep feelings for mother earth during her weeping, wet season of spring and I grow ever more weary of her frigid winter tantrums which (in my northern realm) she indulges in for far too long in my opinion. I could perhaps become attached to her in all her lovely adornment of autumn if the season was not so fickle and fleeting.
Yes, I get that all of these seasons are necessary for the cycle to complete itself, for the growing things and hibernating animals to rest, for the earth to drink in the melting snows and rains in her own renewal. Winter is her beauty rest, spring her awakening and nourishing, and autumn is her final blazing glory.
The season of summer is her lavish, debutante ball. From Summer Solstice to Autumn Equinox we dance at her benevolence, in the glow of her beauty—and we too are transformed by her magical ways
In this time of profuse growth we are gifted with harvests from the seeds we sew, from the flower gardens we lovingly tend, and from the bounties of natural eco-systems we have maintained and protected through green practices. It is the season of abundance and leisure. Who wouldn’t love that?.
If, in our personal wheel of life we find ourselves in the youth of spring, the autumn of wisdom born of experience, or the winter of our final days, for these short months we can imagine it is our summer and relish the sweetness of the vine.