Haying season

It is haying season in Wisconsin, and if you have never smelled a field of new-mown hay, you have not experienced the most beautiful perfume in the world. It is sweet and soft and smells of the both the earth and sky.

Yesterday began with news of the death of one of the pillars of our small community—someone we knew only casually, but who was a fixture in our world. We talked about it more than once during the day: of its suddenness, its unfairness, of our sadness, of the loss to everyone who knew him, of how everything had changed with the loss of this one man. He wasn’t old, yet. He wasn’t finished. It was an angsty day, shredded with unfulfilled potential and incomplete aspiration, and I didn’t write enough or well, so I felt precious time had been wasted. It was also, after a night of storms, hot, sticky, and miserable, the air filled with biting flies. And so, as I was about to make dinner, my husband made a suggestion instead: Let’s go float on the lake.

And so we packed up the dogs, and without any encumbrances, drove away to our little cottage. I wasn’t in the mood to go, and my husband knew I was humoring him. I groused a bit on the drive, but he is a man who knows how to create pockets of joy. As I was upstairs changing, he was making me a gin and tonic. “You’re not driving,” he said. We waded into the cool water, carrying our drinks, followed by paddling dogs. “They were hot,” my husband said, watching them. The dogs are so accustomed to the lake they are almost aquatic creatures, with big Eli the most surprising by his grace and naturalness in the water. They love to swim, and it must have felt good to penetrate their thick fur with the soft coolness of the lake after a hot day.

The sun and blue sky were along the far edges of the horizon, and big storm clouds told of heavy weather to the southwest of us. We go to bed and get up early, and as we packed up for the drive home, the sun broke fully below the shallow rim of clouds and burst into brilliance on the water. I watched the play of light across the fields as we drove home, feeling slightly damp and much calmer than when I’d started, the dogs quiet in the back seat, tired and happy. The hayfields lay golden in the fading sun, waiting for harvest.

Life comes at you. You need to grab its moments when you can.

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You can purchase my books—and pre-order the new novel—at your favorite bookseller. Some of my favorite shops are Honest Dog Books, Boswell Book Company, Mystery to Me Books, Books and Company, Barbara’s Bookstores, Barnes & Noble, Target, and, of course, here. My illustrated children’s book, My Dog Pete is available only here.

And now for your gratuitous dog photo:

Auggie loves the lake, and barks with joy as we drive up. All the neighbors hear us coming.