I’ve lived in the Deep South all my life… on the same piece of property…and I must admit, I’m quite fond of the place. But, if I had to pick one thing that I don’t like, it would be summertime. It seems that the older I get, the hotter it gets. I don’t have any evidence to support that, so you’ll just have to take my word for it.
Yesterday, all I could think about was how hot it was. Then it occurred to me that last year at this very time, Joel and I were packing for Alaska, where we found lows in the forties and highs around sixty.
I thought about how nice it was

to walk barefoot along the beaches of Cook Inlet, and

stand in awe of snow capped volcanoes.
I thought about the house

on the peaceful shores of Daniels Lake, where we could easily find the bathroom in the middle of the night, because it never got dark.

I thought about Mom and Minx, and how Mom just lets me make myself at home.
I thought about how nice it was to sit in the dirt

and pull weeds while rocking a wool shirt…IN JUNE.
And I wished that I was there. And I would be…if it weren’t for those blasted mosquitoes.