2.22.2023

July 2022








                           













































































































July burgeoned with all bright things. The flowerbeds erupted with color, and after the previous summer's ceaseless deluge, July of 2022 returned us to a more normal garden season. Some crops failed entirely, others labored to eke out a small bowlful for the table, and still others threw out their chests and grew so mightily that we raced to keep up.

People visit in every season, but in summertime, the gatherings spill over and center outside instead of in. Each summer, I inwardly give thanks dozens of times to Dude and Mom Owen for our patio, the gift that keeps on giving. In July, Susannah (perhaps to her chagrin) had a "proper" celebration of her midwinter birthday, we hosted the Johnson side of the family on a sunny day and met baby Ian, and we hosted the local Owen side for an Independence Day barbecue crowned with Dude's boxful of explosives. 

Right now, in February, July yawns wide with promise. Looking at these pictures, though, I know it'll fill up before I blink twice, with more of the same. It just can't help itself.


*Pip took the pictures of Ransom and rudbeckia and a laughing Nixie; Susannah took those of the clouds and flames and a baby by the chicken fence.

Spun by Abigail on Wednesday, February 22, 2023

1 comment :

Rebecca said...

Oh Cadence, lounging in the flowers.

Oh Skylark and that squishy face.

And WHAT is in the water up there? How can you have tiny girls with hair as long as their bodies? Poor Ineke inherited (inHAIRited) my sad little wisps... even *I* am jealous of their messy buns. :-)

3/31/2023 2:57 PM

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