This is my season
It's barely summer, and already the garden needs watering. Again. Summer classes are underway. The calendar fills quickly this time of year, but the days stretch long enough to hold it all. Somehow, there's still time to head down to Longnook to see who's around for a game as the light turns golden. The weeds will still be there tomorrow. This is my season.
I don't have those idyllic memories of school letting out and endless summers. My childhood was a little more patchwork than that. But I do remember sitting in the orchards of the Okanagan Valley with sweet fruit juice running down my arms, road trips with my grandparents, and the excitement of knowing my birthday was just around the corner. Dirty feet, sticky hands, knotted hair. No one paying much attention to bedtime. Every June, I recognize that feeling again. Not childhood exactly, but the possibility of inhabiting my own life a little more fully. Accepting the invitation to dinner parties. Letting the dishes pile up a little longer and the pollen collect on the windowsills.
I'm sharing a few of the photographs Rachel Gray captured of me during our Embodied retreat in Mexico this past spring. One image in particular (not shown here) brought me to tears.
There she is.
Not a younger version of myself. Not the version before life got complicated. Just me. Carefree. Playful. Alive.
I think many of the women who joined us on this retreat felt some version of that, too. There was laughter, tears, ocean swims, dancing, and conversations that stretched long past dinner—the kind of connection that reminds us we're not meant to do this life alone.
We left remembering something we hadn't lost after all. For me, it was playfulness: the willingness to linger a little longer, laugh a little louder, and inhabit my body and my life more fully.
Maybe that's what I wish for all of us this summer.
Because the experience was so meaningful, I'll be returning to El Cuyo next February. If this speaks to you, I'd love to share it with you.
Joyful movement, meaningful conversations, sisterhood, and a photography experience that helps you remember something you hadn't lost after all.
And if February feels too far away, there are still a few spaces available on my Santorini retreat. You can learn more about that here.
One last thing before I let you go. In collaboration with my dear friend Sarah Naciri of Wild Blossom Apothecary, I've created a small collection of botanical body oils that have finally made their way to the local farmers markets. You'll find them at Sarah's table in Truro and Wellfleet this summer. I've shared a little more about the inspiration behind them here.
Summer schedules are in full swing, and I'd love to see you. Come practice with me. Come say hello. Come play.
The weeds will still be there tomorrow.
xo, G