Existing In The In-Between

and transitioning into fall.

I’m folding swimsuits and putting them in their respective bins while staring longingly at the sweaters sequestered in the back of the closet. There are peaches in the fruit basket that sits on top of the counter, and a shared Notes document with Anaya that states all of our desired activities for the season ahead.

I’m in the in-between.

I don’t love it here, if I’m being honest. I don’t like the idea of hurrying along time and seasons, and I also don’t like having to think about what kind of morning layers are required to get everyone to school and daycare, that are easily removable come lunchtime when it’s well into the 90’s.

I digress.

What I do like is the expansiveness of it all.

I like squeezing out every last bit of summer onto my tongue via stone fruit juice that runs down the side of my hand, plans for End Of Summer meals with friends- the ones that entail themes, crab boils, and two desserts. I like the curiosity of calendar glances to see if we can fit in just one more camping trip with the kids and the last-minute paddle board adventures. The list of summer-scented meals highlighting heirloom tomatoes (yes, still), the homemade creamed corn with shrimp, and insisting that this will be the summer I finally make an ice cream cake. It’s the open tabs on my phone for Atlantic Beach Pie that sit directly next door to my fall recipe to-do list, complete with polenta cakes and the homemade gnocchi I never got around to last year, or the year before that.

There are the too-early mornings where I am jolted awake by the patting of soft, toddler hands instead of the smell of coffee at 6:15, per the automatic setting, or the weight of my partner’s arm sleepily wrapping around my waist, followed by hastily throwing backpacks and snacks and bodies into the car at 7:30 am. Only to be followed by the staying of daylight, even past bedtime, that only summer can achieve. The still warm enough evenings for extended post-dinner walks to ice cream, the patio beers after dusk that don’t require a jacket, and the ability to be tricked by the sun into thinking there are more hours left in the day than there actually are.

The dog days of summer, they say. The ones that stretch for miles, make you sweat with a certain ferocity, that lend wardrobe changes amongst lunch menus and lunch boxes, the ones that make me simultaneously loathe standing over a hot stove while yearning for layered meals that require time spent stirring.

The in between.

The tomato risotto, the polenta croutons amongst greens instead of cakes paired with braised meats. The ropa vieja done in the pressure cooker to avoid filling the house with added heat. The addition of green chiles to the pizza featuring tomatoes and local corn, made outside on the patio for friends (an idea, and a damn good one at that, of my friend Han), the salads that are filled out with roasted root vegetables.

The merging, you know?

The in-between of soft, 7 pm sunlight meets autumn mornings. It’s a pumpkin beer on the deck, the quiet swap of apples for peaches, and the stillness that slips in with the coming of shorter days.

It’s the in-between and I know what I originally said, about not loving it, but writing this has shown me that perhaps there is more to love, similar to these fleeting, longer days.

Squeeze out the juice of summer, okay? Every last drop.

While you’re at it, tell me how you are doing/intend on doing so, yeah?

Biggest love,

AT