As I have written earlier this summer, we have a large raspberry patch along one side of our garage. It thrives there without too much attention save an annual pruning. Each June I taste some of the berries. While I enjoy them, I sense that I am remembering a richer flavor berry from last year. Then I reflect on how often a memory of taste is often stronger than the actual taste and I relax.

But then come the first berries of August. We inadvertently planted two varieties of raspberries mingled with one another. These second berries are from a different type than the June ones. Yesterday I ate three of the new ones. I was right. These berries were bigger, richer and juicier. It’s just that I was comparing last year’s August berries with this year’s June ones. I mentioned this to my husband. He said that we do this same comparison every year. Fortunately each year we are again delighted by the second harvest.

I am pausing to reflect on what other things are often better the second time around.

Much of our yard either receives full sun or is taken up with the blueberry orchard. But in the back corner there is a spot which is shaded for much of the day because of the neighbor’s pine trees. This is one spot where ferns, such as surrounded me in my childhood, flourish. Here we have bleeding hearts, violets, johnny jump-ups and ferns. This is where I placed a small statue of Mary.

Yards can be a quiet communicator about religious beliefs without shouting or arguing. In my neighborhood there are little shrines to Our Lady of Fatima, clam shell coverings for Mary, and statues of Buddha. All seem to happily co-exist. And when we go to our favorite Indian restaurant we notice the shrine signifying their Hindu faith. I wish that we could live together on the earth as peacefully as these little statues seem to.

During the winter I put out seed to feed the birds. In the fullness of summer, however, the birds feed luxuriously on the seeds available in the yard. One of my favorite diners is the goldfinch which loves to eat the seed out of my sunflowers. In years past, they have tended to wait until the blooms were fading to eat the seeds. Somehow this year they have discovered that the seeds are delectable right out of the new flower. In the middle of this picture, you can see two black spots where the birds have devoured all the seeds causing the petals to fall off the sunflower.

My neighbor takes particular delight in our sunflowers. When she sits out in her back yard she can look over and see the bobbing joyful blooms. Last year they failed to grow, the seeds perhaps having been eaten by squirrels, and she told me how much she missed them. Fortunately this year’s early bumper crop is largely from volunteers from overlooked bird feed from the winter. I guess even squirrels have their limit!

Yesterday my husband watched a hummingbird and a goldfinch squabble over one particular flower. Clearly there are enough for all the birds, but they seemed to favor that specific one. Reminded me a little of a little kid being certain that the sibling’s cookie is somehow better, bigger or tastier than the one in front of her.

The asters are the greenery in the back corner and won’t flower until September. But I couldn’t resist a title with blooms from A to Z. In the foreground are the first flowers of the zinnias my husband planted from seed packets at the end of June. Theoretically they are to be planted with spaces in between them and thinned out as they emerge. I prefer to have them scrunched together in a mass of various sizes, colors and varieties showing off in a willy-nilly arrangement.

Only in the bright heat of summer would such bold colors seem appropriate. It is fitting that they blaze forth for the end of summer and then die down allowing the more sedate asters to emerge. They cheer me immensely, in part because I grew up with a yard that never got enough full sun to grow them. My childhood yard was woodland, with ideal growing conditions for ferns, but not annuals.

Over the next couple of days I will share more of the fruits of my loving husband’s care of our yard. My only job is admiration, an assignment that comes very easily!

My grandson is learning to play golf, being taught by the father of a friend. We were chatting about it Saturday and I asked him if he used woods to drive the ball. He looked at me strangely and said,”What are woods?” I told him that there were irons and woods, and that woods were the four golf clubs for driving the ball long distances. “You mean they used to be made out of wood?” he replied. Things had certainly changed since I last caddied for my father 60 years ago!

The public course where my father and his three friends played early Saturday mornings is pictured above. I loved going along with them and carried his golf bag over my shoulder until I was tired. Eventually he purchased a little cart to use to pull the bag around and I used that. No one used an electric golf cart since walking was a big part of the game. Walking was where you discussed where the ball had landed, which club you needed to use next, what sand and water traps were on the hole being played and how likely it was that you would make par.

I loved my jobs as caddy, especially the one where I waded into the water traps and retrieved balls. There was a little gizmo to wash off the ball and I would present my new finds to my dad and his friends. I knew which club was which when I was asked for one.  I knew to be quiet when anyone was putting. I learned to duck my head if someone yelled fore.

But best of all was the so-called 19th hole where we went after they played 18 holes of golf. My dad and his friends would get beers. But I had a root beer float. I can still remember struggling to keep the root beer from overflowing the glass as I pushed the ice cream down into the liquid. So I guess woods are now made of metal. But I bet my grandson would still love a root beer float after a game.

Posting the photo of my sister Patsy on a horse, I began to think about girls and horses. In my childhood some girls, such as Patsy, were horse crazy. She had Breyer model horses, read Marguerite Henry’s books such as “Misty of Chincoteague,” and took riding lessons. She really wanted to own a horse, but we had no place to keep one. I had several friends who were similarly smitten with horses. At the Camp Fire Girls camp I attended there was a special unit called Ranch where girls spent the week riding and caring for horses.

Me not so much. I rode them when we were at the Oregon coast, as in the picture above. Riding horses on the beach was fun and the horses knew their way up and down the sand and then back to the barn, so no skill was required. But that was the extent of my interest.

I last rode a horse 35 years ago when I was at Canyon de Chelly with my daughter who wanted to ride. A Navajo rancher had a few horses to rent and after sizing us up sent me on an ancient horse, my 8 year old daughter on a pony, and his 10 year old son as a guide. My horse was irritated at having to move at all. Meanwhile my daughter and the little boy hightailed it off across the canyon floor, laughing as they went. And proving my genuine disinterest, I didn’t envy them at all.

Our local library provided an opportunity to both financially support the library and have a great time as a three generation family. Today for $30 for the family, my husband and I, our adult daughter and two grandkids spent 35 minutes in an “escape room.” We could have used 60 minutes, but we “solved” the puzzle in 35, making us 10th on the  leader board so far.

The set up was amazing, a full room of oddities and mysterious clues, locked doors, hidden messages and costumes. The premise was that we had to find three items to make an antidote for a poisoned visitor. None of us had the faintest idea of what we were doing. Fortunately a guide came with the experience and we were able to ask her for three hints. She encouraged us to open everything, to not worry about making a mess, and to keep our eyes open for anything that might be a clue.

First we ran around like crazy, especially the kids. Who doesn’t like the opportunity to look for clues and tear a room apart? Theoretically we should have calmly strategized as a group, but we didn’t. We were having too much fun. Amazingly enough, at key moments we did actually listen to one another. Each of us found an essential clue, and together we found and unlocked the three items–including a unicorn horn and dragon’s blood–to bring the poisoned man back to health.

This was a first experience like this for each of us. But now we will be on the lookout for more opportunities. A truly great time for all ages and a benefit for the library too.

I lost my little sister Patsy one year ago. She died after her third bout of breast cancer which hit her over a period of 12 years. She was ready to go, she said, and died peacefully in her sleep.

She was the joyous child among us four. I miss her laugh and her optimistic view on life.

Peace dear one.

It’s been raining here off and on for several days reminding me of the back to back snowstorms we had this winter. Unfortunately the heavy rain isn’t followed by cooler temperatures but rather continued humidity. I guess we are benefiting from weather coming up from the southeast United States. It reminds me why I have never wanted to live in the southeast United States!

I began to think about boots from my childhood and youth. My shoes were leather, not vinyl or “man-made materials” in those days, and it behooved me to keep them dry. As a child I wore the type of boot on the left which were pulled on over shoes. They were the bane of my young years. I could never successfully pull them off without pulling my shoes with them. And, at least in kindergarten, this meant asking the teacher to help me retie them since shoe tying and I had yet to achieve a happy connection.

In high school I wore leather pumps and I needed to keep them dry using the kind of clear boots found in the right hand picture. These went on over my shoes, keeping them dry. Unfortunately they had the sex appeal of a rutabaga. I had to sacrifice allure for practicality(a seeming theme of my life) since I didn’t have the money to replace my pumps.

Today I just dry off my feet when I venture out in my sandals in a summer downpour. Many people seem to spend the summer in flip flops, another excellent solution. Those clear boots seem to have disappeared from the scene. I can’t say that I am sorry.

I’m not sure why Joni Mitchell in “Both Sides Now” linked moons and Junes and Ferris wheels when she sang about love. I suppose that the moon and June are often connected with love. As for Ferris wheels, perhaps she is referring to that sinking feeling you get when the wheel stops with you at the top as new passengers are loaded on. Particularly if your seat partner, ignoring all warnings, likes to make the car swing back and forth.

I realize that cities have installed giant enclosed wheels to give one a view out over the city. They seem to have gondolas for passengers. I prefer the old fashioned, open air, smaller scale wheel such as pictured above. Each summer many little towns in Connecticut host some kind of summer fair, complete with a midway with a few rides and a few games. Ferris wheels commonly set up at these fairs.

We introduced our children and grandchildren to carnival rides. At first the Ferris wheels was too scary without one of us. Eventually they became brave enough to ride alone. Now the grandchildren crave the dizzying rides which spin, twirl, upend and generally nauseate. I have trouble even watching them.

Summer to me will always be populated with corn on the cob, watermelon, iced tea and at least one town fair with a ride on the Ferris wheel.