this is how it works

This is how it works

You're young until you're not

You love until you don't

You try until you can't

You laugh until you cry

You cry until you laugh

And everyone must breathe

Until their dying breath

No, this is how it works

You peer inside yourself

You take the things you like

And try to love the things you took

And then you take that love you made

And stick it into some

Someone else's heart

Pumping someone else's blood

And walking arm in arm

You hope it don't get harmed

But even if it does

You'll just do it all again

~regina spektor

this was the summer that jamin learned to whistle and hula hoop and both kids tried so hard to master snapping. these were the days when cora would put her fingers right next to my ear to make the tiniest whisper of a sound, the look on her face holding so much pride and excitement that I couldn't help but claim to hear a snap where there was barely friction at all.

this was the summer of the irish, late night conversations highlighting both my geographical ignorance and my sheltered existence. this was the summer I learned again how little I really know about the world and the generation just behind me, just because of when and where and why I was born. 

this was the summer of waterfalls. log hollow (where we hiked in a downpour by choice and stevie the swamp monster was born) and white owl. living waters and looking glass. d.e.w. falls and dill falls. skinny dip where maeve missed her chance to jump and cove creek where she accidentally got brave enough to slide down. the waterfall in redbud springs that certainly deserves a name. we spent more time there this summer cleaning out and stacking rocks than we have in all four years we've lived here.

this was the summer of the dark and stormy, of all-weather hammocks, the summer of the beer journal and band practice on our deck (mallory broke my whisk playing that washboard with such fervor). this was the summer of the smell of citronella and the sound of crickets louder than the white noise machine in the kids' room.

this was the summer we learned jamin is allergic to bees, the summer we became epi pen carriers. the summer we held our breath in the ER only to let it go again where we saw how steady his breath stayed.

this was the summer of eagle lake. of friends that "get us" all the way. of kayak trips to the "trout spawning ground," a place they would paddle just out of my sight. eight kids on a paddle board. sand in the car floorboard.

this was the summer of free range chickens, accidentally here to stay. the summer of poop covered shoes and never being able to walk barefoot in our yard. this was the summer cora finally got pecked in the face, so close to her eye we hoped it'd scare her into cautiousness, but it hasn't.

this was the summer of our girl with a brand new baby. the summer of gender reveal where the word "normal" over and over was music to our ears. the summer where other people's babies are just as exciting as my own.

this was the summer of big kids, kids that hike for miles only to swim and swim and hike out again. this was the summer they spent leaping and climbing and proving me wrong over and over again. this was the summer jamin developed a shrug too old for his six-year-old frame, but he uses it so expertly I can't help but smile.

this was the summer of our last days of homeschooling.

this was the summer we spent seeing our life through other people's eyes. this is really the way we live. this is really the place we live. this is really our view, both from the windows and from our minds. and it is a good one.