Summer is when the market is bursting with all the summer fruits: berries of every kind, watermelon is ripe and pineapples are crowned with sweetness. I’ve been searching for sweet peaches but keep coming with ones that have a tart edge. Good for smoothies I figure.
Summer seems to bring childhood memories of picnics where we’d spread one of Granny’s quilts on the ground or, if we got to the park early enough, over a concrete picnic table. There was always watermelon. I don’t know if it was because we all liked it or it was the easiest to carry and cut when we were ready to eat it.
This photo of a simple bowl of fruit sitting on a quilt brings to mind the figurative fruit of summer: family. We’ll be gathering again as we do every August up in the Carolina mountains. Every year there are six the same with different auxiliary players year to year. We make room and welcome them all.
We will go to the same diner for Sunday breakfast, the same orchard to order pies and apple loaf. We will walk the same lake and take in the same scenery. We take comfort in how the familiar welcomes us.
Some will stay the week and others a few days but our time is sweet with laughter and warm with indescribable affection for each other.
“I could never in a hundred summers get tired of this.” – Susan Branch