Turning from Summer

We said good-bye to summer under a grey sky among the low brush of wild blueberry bushes at Graveyard Fields off of the Blue Ridge Parkway. The girls and I diligently picked berries while Rem picked and ate in complete imitation of his favorite storybook character, Little Sal. A few other people dotted the fields gathering berries and it took some searching at this very popular spot for ripe berries. Deep into the clumps of bushes, away from the footpaths and close to the ground sat deep blue juicy berries and we soon filled our bags. Rem moved toward the water content with his afternoon snack of blueberries (and, despite my warnings, red ones). Although the children had hoped to end the day swimming at the lower falls the crisp air and drops of rain sent us home after a brief wade in the frigid water.

The park sits empty and quiet this morning and except for the rhythmic pulsing music of the insects, Rem and I alone disturb the silence (Tam noiselessly chases a squirrel). The refreshing change of seasons, from summer to school, creates an energy that rejuvenates our family and puts me to rights again. Our schedule, although more rigid and with a great amount of chauffeuring, sits pre-determined throughout the week and offers a sense of organization that vanishes from our home during the summer. Rem returns to mornings with plenty of individual attention and together we chat about grass and bugs as we walk toward the swing and I notice how Rem’s vocabulary has grown.

“I am King Max,” he announces as I lift him into the swing and I push him in and out of weeks and over a year toward the wild things. Later, I will greet my fourth grader who approached the new school year with a maturity and excitement that both surprised and pleased me. She arrived at the piano first in the darkness on Tuesday. I traditionally sneak out of bed and to the piano to rouse the family with an exuberant (albeit painful) rendition of “Oh What a Beautiful Morning”, for the first day of school. Miren and Lise typically echo the verse from their beds and join me by the first chorus but only Lise showed up yesterday. Together we sang through three verses and choruses before the new middle-schooler added a sleepy voice to ours. (The father didn’t make a showing at all until minutes before they all trudged out the door loaded down with pristine notebooks and boxes of Kleenex).

Middle school feels like a new world to this parent. I take my cues from my daughter who acts nonplussed and at ease with the transition. And so will I, hoping all the while that this world is good to her and for her. A new chapter begins.