this summer.

I canceled my son's birthday party this year.

Hello dear friends. How are you? We are descending towards autumn now, and even though it is humid and uncomfortably warm where I live, the cicadas have gone quiet and the earth is slowly turning brown. Autumn is my favorite. The misty rains, the delicious cool air, the coziness, the wild aliveness that comes over me—I have always, always adored autumn.

I don’t thrive in humidity and heat. This summer, though, was not as intense as most in the south. We had our hot days, but did not embark on a triple-digits, multi-day streak as we usually do. Other than brutal swarms of mosquitos, this summer was not unreasonable. For this, I am thankful.

It makes me laugh softly seeing that God’s surprise gift to me in mid-life, my only begotten son, was delivered in the summer. Since childhood I’ve dreaded the onset of it, because for me, summer meant torture. Lack of air-conditioning alongside busy and laborious large-family life on a farm meant little relief from unrelenting heat. I lived for that first curious wind, which often came sweeping along the pines in September. It was a hopeful promise of the relief to come. And then, God bless October! For me, mid to late October is when I would come alive. I could breathe. My mind and heart blossomed and burst with creative possibility. I could move without sticking to myself.

Then came July 30, 2020. You really can’t get more mid-summer than that, and again, for me, you can’t get more miraculous than that. Solomon was born in a top-floor apartment whose window faced west, because I couldn’t make it down the stairs. After his birth, a gentle summer storm held us in the night. And ever since, a joyous birthday celebration for this gift of a son has been the highlight of our summers. It’s like Christmas in July.

And this year I canceled it.