One Fine Summer Morning

But I digress…July 2024

I awaken most summer mornings at a time I once thought unthinkable.

My first conscious thought is: eastern phoebe. Or: chipping sparrow. Either one has fully mastered the sound of an alarm clock. Loud and shrill. Occasionally, a robin beats them to it. On those mornings, I smile. It’s a gentler start to the day.

Light sneaks through the skylights at 5:30 a.m. The coffee maker starts percolating—filling the house with that wonderful fragrance that even people who don’t like the taste of coffee will admit is pretty fine.

By the time I make my way out to the back porch, more birds are announcing the arrival of a new day. An oriole lands on the bracket holding the hummingbird feeder and softly squawks at me. Then, he flies back over to the oriole feeder.

It’s empty.

Point taken.

Do you all talk to your neighbor birds? Because I do. It seems polite. This summer, with the help of an app, I’m memorizing bird songs. Many of them won’t come to the feeders where I can see them, so I have to learn their identities some other way.

This year, I’ve learned the song of the veery. The veery is a smaller, brownish bird who, from a distance, probably looks like many other smaller, brownish birds. But its song is quite distinctive. I remember last summer learning the sound of the song sparrow, and these days I notice it’s become quite rare. When I hear birds singing, I wonder what they are saying to one another.

These are the things I think about on this fine summer morning.

When I left my old job three summers and four winters ago, I plunged right back into being busy—spending the bulk of my time focused on all sorts of things quite unrelated to bird songs. When Crossing Fifty-One came out last summer, I would sit out on the porch with the birds now and then, but it was different.

I was different. Preoccupied with the launch, the marketing, the sales, the advance reviews, the party—all of it. I also stressed about the drought and its impact on my gardens and the wildlife. So much worry over so many things I had absolutely no control over.

I recently finished reading Wish You Were Here by Jodi Picoult and this brief passage hit me hard:

Busy is just a euphemism for being so focused on what you don’t have that you never notice what you do. It’s a defense mechanism. Because if you stop hustling—if you pause—you start wondering why you ever thought you wanted all those things.

It’s taken me until now to stop with the hustling.

This summer is different. I’ve taken back control of my life, starting with my mornings.

Along with my coffee, I drink in the cool crisp air. I survey my gardens—the gardens I spent the busy time designing, installing, and cultivating. Now is the time to enjoy the fruits of my labor. The continued deterioration of my body (another casualty of the busy time) tells me that later today I will weed…but only just until I become a bit uncomfortable. No more pushing through pain and sweat.

I accept that there are aspects of summer that I will always loathe—namely humidity, sweat, bug spray, sweat, sunscreen, sweat, bug bites, sweat, rodents, sweat, and especially the amalgam of sweat mixed with bug spray and sunscreen that stings my eyes.

On this fine summer morning, there is no humidity…only a light breeze and a freshness that fills my soul with joy for what lies ahead. So I will move slowly and mindfully through it. I still have things to do, namely, that next book. I much prefer wintertime for writing. So for now, I will watch the birds.

Because I can.

Thanks for reading! See you next month.

~ Debbie

Two great things I read this month:

Anne Lamott recently wrote about the joy that comes with slowing down and finding gratitude in aging.

Check out this piece in the Washington Post about the do-nothing vacation. It makes a lot of sense!

Podcast recommendation:

I haven’t recommended a podcast in awhile, and I’ve been remiss in overlooking this one! Lizbeth is a lovely human, who had me on as a guest last year, and recommended me for another podcast, which I’ll be recording in the next couple of weeks.

Personally, I love podcasts that inspire, and this is one that fits that criteria:

Book recommendations:

Fiction: The Seed Keeper by Diane Wilson

A friend recommended this book and I was so grateful for the opportunity to be transported into a part of Minnesota and Native American history that I believe is sorely overlooked. The clash between cultures and livelihoods could not be more painful, but the only way we will ever understand is to allow ourselves to face up to it.

Nonfiction: Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer

I read this book last winter, and now, during our all-too-short Minnesota summer, I find myself thinking about it, as I contemplate my own relationship with nature. We all can and need to do better.