By Rebecca Lemar
Manifesto: a public declaration of intentions, opinions, objectives, or motives
I promised my children they could stay up late last night because something very exciting was going to happen: A full on Midwestern thunderstorm.
We got ready and placed fold-up chairs in the open garage, and with kids on laps we covered ourselves with a big, cozy blanket and waited…
The trees began to sway wildly and leaves snapped like flags, then like a light switch, lightening flashed and grumbling thunder filled the dark night sky. The rain started falling down in big, fat drops and sped to a shower of water. The air smelled fresh, but when this was all over we would smell the dirt and the worms. Another bright flash and a crack of thunder so loud, so close, we clenched each other tight with excitement and a little fear.
This is summer; and this is my manifesto inspired by a thunderstorm.
I BELIEVE
Summer has its own personality. From a child’s point of view summer is freedom opening their world to a place where the weather is warm and the daylight hours are long. We can sleep in and take a hiatus from the stressful hustle and bustle of getting ready for school and extracurricular activities. The change gives us perspective.
In summer the earth teems with life. Gardens grow, animals have migrated home, bees collect nectar and make honey, bugs get eaten by frogs which get eaten by snakes which get eaten by eagles which get eaten by bugs when they die. If there is any a time where we could be truly entertained by nature, summer is it: Catching frogs, jumping over waves, picking strawberries, collecting flowers.
Time is different in summer. Off school, off schedule, our attention is free to roam. We can collect sensations like sand between toes, the smell of campfire in our hair, the chill of a wet bathing suit on our skin. And slowing down enough to recognize that life feels good. Very good. Summer gives us roots below and the extra sunlight and popsicles above, and the children will grow like happy, un-plucked weeds.
I WANT TO
Unplug my children from technology and cultivate wonder, celebrate nature, let them go naked and barefoot. I want to help my children set up a lemonade stand and take pictures of them tasting lemons, to allow ride bikes and skateboards all day long. I want to take my children on night hikes, sleep in the screen porch, go camping, let them wear swimsuits under their clothes, take naps together with the wind of a fan lightly brushing skin. I want to watch them build sand tunnels and sand castles and then stomp them to the ground.
I KNOW THIS TO BE TRUE
Summer is sensational.
Summer smells like fresh cut grass, campfire, lake water, black top roads, and sunscreen.
Summer sounds like thunderstorms, the melody of an ice cream truck (which by the volume, you know how long you have to run in to get money), the buzz of mosquitoes, splashing water. It is birdsong in the morning and life noisy in the dark. Summer sounds like a campfire dancing to an earthy tune.
Summer tastes like fresh berries, crunchy corn on the cob with dripping butter, crunchy snow peas fresh from the garden, basil salads, ice cream cones, lemonade, melting ice.
Summer is a rich sensory territory with warm skin from the day’s sun, watching sunsets and counting fireflies with magic and wonder, little hands sticky from melted popsicles.
The multi-sensory world of this sweet season made up my childhood summers, not television or the screen games I played. They are the treasured and fleeting memories that helped make me who I am 30 years later. Even knowing it may be different, my manifesto is to offer the same to my children.
