Dear Jan,
You and Dale have been climbing your own peaks lately (Dale - a marathon on Pike’s Peak, really? And when do you get that second star?). My personal peak has been more subtle; I’m grateful I didn’t pass over it without stopping to notice the summit.
I’m talking about Summer Solstice or Midsummer or Litha, whatever you prefer. I marked the holiday by sleeping out in the backyard, and woke to a beautiful planet in the first dawn of summer. I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of melancholy, for the days will now shorten, in tiny bits that aren’t noticeable at first, but by late August the angle of light will be telling. Just last weekend I picked our first alpine strawberries and already I have to face that winter is coming.
I suppose I could despair, but instead I will hold this as a reminder to relish the warm, bright days ahead. The garden is reaching that lovely state of anticipation as we start picking a few things, radishes, herbs, greens, and can see that tomatoes and eggplants are setting fruit and it will be a bumper crop of cherries. 
I am so enjoying the wedding flowers, so glad we went this route and that I get to be reminded of a loving event every time I walk out my door.
The red winged blackbirds must be fledging their young now. Groups of juveniles are appearing at our feeder, sticking together for safety and landing with the charming awkwardness and eagerness that teenagers of other species share. Then they poop on the deck, which in its own way reminds me of teenagers of other species, but I’m still happy to have had them all.
I don’t have much notable knitting to share - the onesy progresses but doesn’t look much different than last photo (though I knit on it quite awhile in the dark last night, which was so peaceful). I’m about to the scyes on the shell and the fabric remains enchanting to me. Here is a shot of the wrong side, though it is so pretty I hate to call it that.
I hope your rush of the last few days of your Colorado assignment doesn’t keep you from enjoying this beautiful summer.
Love,
Ellen
Jan and Ellen are identical twins who have always had an innate fashion sense. Crafting is an integral part of their lives and they stay stitched together sharing their love of knitting, family and community.
June 21st, 2009 at 4:55 pm
Oh, thank you so much for this post! I love the turning of the solar year, since it reminds me to pay attention to the here and now, when it’s so often easy to be looking ahead or behind. I love the idea of sleeping outdoors on summer solstice — I will definitely have to plan something like that in the future with the girls.
June 21st, 2009 at 10:35 pm
Ellen, what a lovely post. You have such a way with language. I could just see the teenage redwinged blackbirds trying their hand at this flying thing. How absolutely lyrical. Of course you didnt mention any bugs pestering you last night, so I assume you had a huge net draped over you. Or any rocks beneath you, so there was at least a sleeping bag if not an air mattress. Anyway, I digress. Happy Solstice!
June 21st, 2009 at 11:52 pm
Mmm, verrrry pretty post, Ellen. Made me want to tell you of a Celtic-inspired Summer Solstice tradition I once read about and have kept for many years — yes, for real.
On the late evening or early morning of the soltice, (shhh!) I do some dancing in the backyard, using balletic movements which, I am sure, could best be described as nymph-like. (What? Are you snickering?!) I then rub a few drops of dew that has collected on the leaves of my plants (or grass) onto my cheeks — the idea being that this will help me preserve the blush of youth. The older the girl in the mirror gets, however, the more clearly she sees that perhaps the blush is from being breathless from all that dancing and dew-searching.
One of my best-ever memories of Jan and Marie was their willingness to dance in the backyard in Rhode Island with me on the eve of the Solstice many years ago. With NO questions asked, NO raised eyebrows, and in sheer supportive sisterhood, we went searching for dew and found that there was not nearly enough available to gather on that night. After we rubbed dew (which might have involved a sneaky bit of spit on the part of one participant), we had a girly group hug and paused for a moment of reflection. I think it was Jan that broke the reverent silence with the inspirational, memorable and motivational words, “I know a great ice cream stand.” God bless her comedic timing. We busted out laughing and went cruising for Moose Tracks at the Frosty Freez (sic). Thanks for reminding me of one of my life’s tiny perfect moments… xoxo
June 22nd, 2009 at 11:39 pm
Sounds like a wonderful way to spend the solstice! I love the sense of rhythm in the natural world. Just as we begin to climb into summer, we also begin to slip into fall. It’s just so perfectly /right/ somehow.
June 23rd, 2009 at 9:21 pm
I did stop to reflect on solstice…though I didn’t sleep outside given the current fear of the Miller Moth infestation. (They are lingering in their migration this year and they like to crawl into tight, dark places…my nostrils quiver at this thought.) I did think about the time Marie and Chris and I danced in the solstice in Rhode Island. It was one of those moments that stays in your memory. No dancing this year…but there may have been ice cream!