A new seasonal rhythm
A new water heater is being installed today, or maybe tomorrow, although it might be Friday. This time the uncertainty has nothing to do with island living but rather priorities; an emergency or two may take precedence. If I'd known it wasn’t happening today, I might have stayed in bed with my coffee and book all morning. But the plumber had caught me in my nightshirt at 11 am yesterday when he arrived unexpectedly in response to my call. I would be embarrassed if he thought it was a regular habit. Which, I’ll admit to you, it is.
Almost every night this summer, when I got into bed, I would tell myself, "Tomorrow you will start the day early and productive!" And yet every summer morning has been neither early nor productive. Past summers were always a time for recharging, starting with sunrises and early dog walks, but it hasn’t felt like that this year. Why? I think I finally understand. It began with a quote my friend Linda shared.
“I have done nothing all summer but wait for myself to be myself again.”
I responded to her that as the days grow shorter and mornings are cooler, I am starting to feel like myself again! On Monday, I spent the afternoon at my desk and checked things off my to-do list. A bit of research, planning workshop content, and setting up the registration link for my alumni groups made me feel like I had accomplished something - and it felt so good! Did I feel like I had wasted a glorious August day? Nope, not at all! I felt like I was slipping into my favourite season of the year, when writing and workshops once again fill my days.
Then an email back from my friend, Linda. She writes that as much as summer had always felt like a vital and enduring recharging season in her former years as an educator, she now finds it is shifting as she moves deeper into retirement. Reading the O'Keefe quote finally gave her permission to stop mourning and start accepting that summer is no longer her special time. Now it is a time of transition, allowing for rest and reflection. A time to gear up for the season that takes her back into herself. She lists some of the things she loves about late August. As she looks forward to the months ahead, she adds, “…then there is the delight and anticipation of lighting a candle for Morning Pages and endless cups of hot beverages to wrap my fingers around as I sit on the deck, draped in my trusty fall shawl watching the seasons change. The comfort of outdoor fires, orchard visits, and long drives to take in the vibrant colours. The excitement of the first swirls of snow. The desire and joy of returning to writing and to myself.”
What I hadn’t realized is that summer also holds new meaning for me, now that I no longer arrive at July’s doorstep exhausted. Like Linda, summer has become a time of transition for me. And during the last weeks of August, I stand on a threshold. I am, as John O’Donohue wrote, taking my time “to feel all the varieties of presence that accrue here, listening with complete attention to my inner voice calling me forward.”
As much as I look forward to the coming months, that does not diminish the many pleasures of late August days. The rufous hummingbirds have departed for Mexico, leaving only a pair of Anna’s hummingbirds visiting the feeder. Robins gorge on the red berries of the pyracantha. Six different varieties of tomatoes ripen on the vine in our garden. The sun sets lower, creating brilliant orange and red sunsets. Jars of Okanagan peaches cool on the countertop. My daughter is sent home with an overflowing basket of lush blackberries and a recipe for blackberry brie grilled cheese sandwiches. Hot, frothy oat lattes have replaced iced coffee. Chrysanthemums are for sale at every grocery store and nursery.
I now don't feel like I’ve wasted this summer. I think I’ve been leaning into a new rhythm, one that fits more with the life I am now living. I have also discovered a new definition for productivity - paying attention, noticing what has changed, and living in the moment.
