Evening everyone! Whew. Anyone else having an unexpectedly crazy summer? Usually summers round here look like gardening in the cool of the morning and reading in the shade in the afternoon with a few kid-related outings thrown in. But this summer??
There are group text chains for carpooling six little girls, learning to fly with the kids by myself, avian flu in the community, bug-infested camping trips, a grocery bill that keeps going up and more canning than one woman should ever undertake alone. All while helplessly watching our democracy continue to be quietly dismantled piece by piece.
Sometimes even our intentionally slow lives feel a little frantic.
The thing I've learned, though, is not to panic. Seasons of busyness or overwhelm are a like a rip-tide. If you try to fight it head-on, you'll find yourself exhausted and even further from shore.
Just like the rip-tide, if we want to make it out the other side, we have to turn the thing on its head, approach it from another (perhaps counterintuitive) angle.
Mostly, for me anyway, that looks like surrender. To piles of unfolded laundry, to liters and liters of dill pickles, to weeds reclaiming the onion bed as fast as I pull them out.
We can't have those quiet, restorative days of books and cool shade and perfect breezes without at least a few days of chaos and crying eight year old girls and cucumbers EVERYWHERE.
Before we know it, we'll be lighting the fire in the morning again and pulling the last of the tomatoes.
Relish the summer laughter of the kids while they fill the house. Don't sweat the laundry or the work left undone. Even the chaos has it's sweetness.