The calendar says that July is mostly gone. That means that time is snowballing here, hurtling toward the end of summer with the same reckless abandon my two year-old has when it comes to piloting a wooden train around a track. The harvest is stacking up in baskets and even wheelbarrows in the barn, and my husband is sending me texts making sure he’s got the right sort of dill for making pickles. We’re in use it or lose it mode, and it shows.
While canning pickles is new to me, preserving peaches isn’t. And honestly, right now, it’s nice to have a small, familiar thing that stands out as a milestone of rhythm.
So as our freezer is filling with cotton sacks of green beans, it’s a sweet moment of respite to stand beside my husband at the sink and skin peaches. We’ve been doing this dance so long we know each other’s steps and honestly, I love it.
A small thing. A moment of the two of us, in the kitchen, laughing about whatever comes to mind, singing snippets of Jackson to one another. Enjoying the abundance of the here and now, and preparing to have a winter just as full of the same.