Maybe Next Year

Wild Currant Berries

Daily Photo

Tomorrow lights the horizon like a Harvest Moon and all my Summer days were filled until work gushed over into the nights but …

But I didn’t

  • taste this summer’s wild currants–pressing the rich dark cylinders against the roof of my mouth until the juice slid wetly, wonderfully down my throat
  • Hike the foggy, far reaches of the Lost Coast wandering among wild elk while seagulls claim the shore
  • Stand cheering wildly, rubbing shoulders with ranchers in their western shirts and ex-loggers with their beer bellies and suspenders, as long legged horses race at Ferndale
  • Kayak the unbelievably blue waters of Stone Lagoon and camp the wild far shore
  • Slide my hands into a tangle of thorns and pick pans full of wild blackberries
  • Try one last time to slip my camera around the two fox cubs leaping wildly in front of my car
  • Spend more time searching the black depths of a wild Humboldt night, imprinting the small stars into my heart before the city lights wash them away

The wild is disappearing, the Summer is melting towards Fall and I’m not making time to watch them go.



  • (glass raised) Here’s to next year….

  • I am watching the first rays of today’s sun spreading like flowing water across the spinifex. Soon it will be full day and the greeters of the dawn will quieten as they begin their daily struggle. Oh to be young, and immortal, and to have the certainty of next year. Live now. Live greedily. Swallow today’s life in huge gulps. Tomorrow may not be yours to claim. All too soon we reach the age when tomorrow is a bonus. Today is sufficient.

    You work that you may keep pace with the earth and the soul of the earth.
    For to be idle is to become a stranger unto the seasons,
    and to step out of life’s procession, that marches in majesty and proud submission towards the infinite.

  • The hike, the kayak, and the stars are still there. Jump to it.

  • Kym… Talk about no camera… The other night I heard a commotion on the porch and looked out to see two little spotted skunks dancing around each other on their front legs. Tails and back legs in the air. Amazing, I doubt that I will ever see it again but I sure jump to the door every time I hear something outside.

  • I’m sure you did more in this one summer than a lot of moms manage in a year, Kym. Keep that list handy for next summer. Start making your must-do list for the coming season: gather a pocketful of hazelnuts before the squirrels get them all; mark the first and last rays of the equinox sun somewhere around your house; spend a day putting up salsa or applesauce with a kitchen full of girlfriends; carve a pumpkin; go out to play in the first rainstorm….

  • Yes! Preach it!

    These are all important as can be.

  • There are many things I didn’t do this summer, too, but there are many that I did. One regret: not getting to eat a single strawberry off my one plant…birds and bugs got to the few that grew before I did. However, I have been gone for two weeks and haven’t looked at the plant yet. Tomorrow I will, and I hope there is one strawberry for me.

  • I’m all for getting the most out of what’s left of this year, and going for it next year as well.

  • I’m with you sista but I’m not giving up the ghost yet – just 3 more weeks and I might see some time off so I’m going to give it one last push to get some of those goals accomplished because I know it’s a long winter of “I wish I . . . . ” . . .

    Great posts, I still have much catching up to do – your writing and photography are always first rate and I always (but too infrequently) visit like an 8 year old descending the stairs on Christmas morning . . . be well, fine soul, and don’t go quietly into the winter, make the season drag you clawing and screaming from the ice fringed lakes . . . so when you rest inside watching the storms rage with a good book and a cup of tea you are well satisfied you ate the marrow from the bones of summer . . . .

  • You’ve all made the case for enjoying summer a little more and I’m going to try. I’m trying to make arrangements to go camping at the ocean. Thanks you all and Steve, you were particularly compelling with your beautiful prose/poetry!

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