Hot orange juice

The heat is overwhelming on the East coast and its only mid-June. There are a few reasons I live in Northeast Pennsylvania and one of them is the supposed absence of endless, sticky days, when the sun is like hot orange juice that has begun to dry on your skin and the earth feels like she's holding her breath. I'm wilting, like our vegetable plants we've yet to get in the garden. Rowan is cranky. Mama's cranky. Papa's cranky. Luckily, we've managed to squeeze a few moments of laughter out of these drenching days...usually before 10am or after 4pm. I'm a firm believer in siestas, in general, and when the sun hits its peak, I would opt for a nice long nap in a breezy, shady corner of the yard. When I say nap, I do mean more of a rest. I’m not usually much of a napper, but a moment in which I can appreciate the intricate details of a spent seed pod from our maple tree or the serpentine movement of ladybug larvae is always welcome. Today I spent the minutes between 11:33 and 12:16 memorizing the crests and valleys of Rowan’s sleeping toddler face.

We didn't make it to the lake today, but we did spend both Saturday and Sunday afternoon submerged. By Sunday, Rowan was putting his face in the water himself. He also picked up two adorable mermaids—young, French, raven-haired sirens who were smitten with his approach (that would be to get real close and stare). I’d guess the elder at 6 years of age and the younger at 3 or 4. He, of course, preferred the older woman. Until Mama found a snail…then the girls were quickly forgotten. I can’t imagine that will last long.

Reports were calling for apocalyptic thunder, lightning, high winds and hail around dinner time, so we cooked in tonight. Our rosemary chicken which sounded so refreshing on the grill, roasted in the oven at 375 degrees F after a nice sear stove-top. I wouldn't be surprised if our kitchen reached just about that temperature by the time we sat down to dine. Mama wanted lemon-scented barley, but Rowan demanded "noo-noos" so whole wheat rotini it was. Papa topped it with a quick homemade tomato sauce that included lots of fresh herbs. Rowan’s review: “Mmmm….nummy noo-noos.” Also heard at the dinner table this evening, “BOCCLI! BOCCLI!” This from the broccoli monster that visited despite the heat...

We listened to the thunder rolling in the distance when we toured the garden after dinner, but we’ve yet to witness lightening, rain or hail, thank goodness. The temperature has dropped to a comfortable 74 degrees F, though, and a full breeze is tickling the curtains. I think it’s time to enjoy said breeze from my bed. Shade and sweet water…..