Summer has an amazing allure for me. As a child, I spent the season traveling with my family, exploring incredible places like the Black Hills of South Dakota, the cherry-laden orchards of upstate New York, and the wonders of Yellowstone National Park. I’ve swum in more bodies of water than I can count—not including the lake in our own backyard, where I would spend endless hours snorkeling, sailing, fishing, and jumping off our beloved raft. I was a passionate tadpole collector, carefully placing them in a large plastic pool and watching, wide-eyed, as they slowly transformed into frogs.   

 Once I married and started a family of my own with Hubby, summers took on a very different tone. I spent seven years in college earning my bachelor’s and master’s degrees, and many of my summer evenings were devoted to classes. At the same time, I was working two jobs, seven days a week. Instead of swimming in the lake or catching a catfish for dinner, I was swimming in homework and catching lectures on educational theory.

 Eventually, my college years came to an end, and I stepped into a professional role as a social worker, just as our kiddos began arriving. What a joy it was to spend afternoons and weekends with them. I would sit in a lounge chair beneath the shade of a big maple tree, happily watching them play in the water and on the beach, building sandcastles with great imagination. Their laughter echoed across the lake as they splashed, giggled, and blew bubbles underwater. When they were little, we marked the swimming area with buoys so they could only wade in up to their waists. But as they grew older, we built a bigger raft, and one of their greatest delights was swimming out to it and leaping off, dramatically holding their noses as they jumped off. Because we did foster care, they always had company. 

As my children grew, my summer days evolved once again. With more time on my hands, I began volunteering as the director of a large recreational group for adults with disabilities, and suddenly, I found myself planning summer vacations for all fifty of us. These trips opened doors for individuals who otherwise might never have traveled, and along the way, we created a joyful, supportive community. The trips were always filled with laughter, often at our own expense, as we navigated new places, new experiences, and the occasional travel mishap with humor, and heart.

And then, as life tends to do, things shifted again. I aged. My body, once strong enough to lift wheelchairs and assist others with ease, began to face its own orthopedic challenges. The travel, the coordination, and the lifting became too much so I stepped back. I retired not only from full-time work but also from the volunteer activities that had once filled my summers with purpose and joy.   

These days, I am fortunate to work part-time at a church, putting my legendary typing skills and well-honed people skills to good use. Truth be told, I love summer now more than ever. A big part of that is the peace that comes with no longer having financial worries. I have learned to live comfortably on a small income, and that brings an unexpected kind of freedom. My children are grown and (mostly) on their own, which means I get to enjoy my grandchildren without the round-the-clock responsibilities of raising them. We have a blast together visiting places like Dave & Buster’s or catching the latest Disney movie at the theater, where I share my favorite hot, buttered popcorn.

    Summer has changed alongside me through every chapter of my life, from carefree childhood adventures to the juggling act of parenthood, the purposeful chaos of group travel, and now the quieter, sweeter joys of semi-retirement. These days, summer is not about how far I travel or how much I do. It is about enjoying the season in a slower, fuller way than I ever did before.