My children have collapsed, exhausted and spent into their beds. A weekend that began with a grim forecast, calling for rain and thunderstorms, surprised us with sunshine, gentle breezes and warm, summer-like temperatures.
The lawn was mowed, its edges trimmed. The children played in the dirt, tossed the basketball, climbed up and then down the slide, and gathered sticks for a daylong bonfire that was enjoyed by all. We ate our lunch outside, and indulged in popsicles. The screen door banged and squeaked over and over with someone running in or out, gathering snacks, cold drinks or to use the washroom. For the first time in ages more time was spent outdoors than indoors, and I feel the soothing fatigue that comes from hours of fresh air and sunshine.
Weekends like this remind me why we’ve chosen a country life. The crisp green trees that surround us, their leaves chitter chattering in the wind, the street largely free of traffic, and a sprawling yard full of activity and exploration for my young boys, all make our commute worth it.
The evening sun is slowly drifting toward its own rest. I’m writing this on my front porch, sitting in a comfortable chair with my legs crossed. The air is fresh and cool, and I’m soaking up my contentment. Even the mosquitoes can’t dampen my spirits. This is my favourite part of the house. As the summer months extend and swell with heat, it’s where I can most often be found— in the morning with my coffee, in the evening with a glass of velvety Shiraz.
This is the life I cherish. This is the life that makes me happy, surrounded by my husband children, with nowhere to be.