Last night I noticed the first firefly (we called them lightening bugs growing up) of the season. I paused and watched, there was another, and another. I moved to a different window, opened it wide and watched them as they moved around the back yard, around the tree and plants in my flower beds. Soon, my cat, Butters, jumped in the screened window and watched them too. His head darted back and forth as each one lit in the landscape below.

I watched in delight. I inhaled the balmy summer evening air with birds still chirping, but more quietly than earlier in the day. The evening was calm, fewer cars and noise than usual. It was a picture perfect summer night.

I began to reflect on summer evenings of my youth. Nights on the front porch, growing up in a neighborhood where it was common to sit outside and visit. On occasion, after our baths, and dressed in pajamas, we would go for a ride to The Root Beer Stand for an ice cream treat, bugs buzzing under the canopy lights, as a car hop would bring a tray to the car window.

We vacationed in Wisconsin many summers while I was growing up. I can recall only a handful of memories from those summers. I remember the deer we fed by hand. Or the firetruck my father insisted my brothers and I got on so he could take a picture. I exclaimed the leather seat was too hot but he wanted a picture. I still have the photo, legs tucked up near my chin and dress pulled down over my knees. Funny how the picture takes me right back to the feelings I was having.

I attended a local summer camp, Camp Saint Claret (I think we called it Camp Claretknoll). It was a historic summer camp operated by the Claretian Missionaries on the Claretknoll property. The camp was literally a few miles from home but I felt as though we were transported to a different world. I had no idea at the time it was a missionary founded organization. I really can’t recall what we actually did there but thinking of it brings back to memory nights of campfires and scary stories.

I remember my Noni’s garden. Besides her vegetable plants, the garden border was always full of peonies and roses. She loved her garden and I know she planted those seeds in me as well. We would pick dandelion from the yard, so that she could eat the greens in salad, long before the days of chemical treatments on lawns. She taught me about picking and sautéing zucchini flowers.

I love my flowers and adding new varieties to the flower beds each year. But, I gave up gardening vegetables. After my mother died, I lost the joy. I carried on the tradition of planting vegetables, after my father died, which he took on with gusto after my grandmother passed away. Mom and I planted tomatoes, peppers, zucchini and cucumbers. Dad’s garden was always much bigger, priding himself in the lettuce, onions, garlic and sweet corn. Thinking of the garden also evokes lovely memories with my mother, grating zucchini for bread and cooking tomatoes for sauce to use all winter. Perhaps the spark will return one day.

Do you have a favorite summer memory? Or perhaps a summer tradition you grew up with and still share with your family today? I would love to hear it. You can reply in the Facebook or Instagram post, or on my website, so others can enjoy reading it.

Wishing you summer days to savor and that bring you peace. Deena

Image: With my “Noni” in her garden.