Ryan and I go on our annual end-of-school-year camping trip with or dear friends Lane + Angie + Chad. It rained the entire day on Saturday, and we kept ourselves beneath tent flaps; I read The Pillow Book of Sei Shonagon and tried to keep myself from rushing to the bathroom (that would be bout of flu #2, thankyou). Sunday the skies cleared and we were able to enjoy the falls. I love sleeping outside, and I love any time spent with this cluster. Cherries have come into season.
I spend half the month in New jersey, but the only time I leave the confines of the white house in Toms River is when we go to the shore, which is resurrected in a poem by my friend Colleen later in the year. I go out east strongly believing I will come back no longer wanting children, prepared to grow old with a series of golden retrievers, but then: look at how sweet they are.
Christian has his first birthday, which is essentially spent in the Nelson's garage, watching him smear frosting in every crevice of his face. This is followed by a rousing game of four-square while the birthday boy sleeps. I'm glad to be home, to feel the Minnesota sun and examine the Minnesota green.
We turn to Hay Creek on weekends to tire out the dogs. We pull our first strawberries from the garden. We're happy summer has finally burst into full bloom.
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