The First Day of Summer

The constant drizzle and grey skies proclaim nothing of “The First Day of Summer.” I guess the weather forgot to check the calendar. It’s supposed to be sunny now… remember weather? The rest of the country is in bathing suits and off enjoying long hours at the beach, but here in the North West on the first day of summer, I’m in jeans and a sweatshirt. Oh yeah, and don’t forget the cozy socks and quilt to cuddle under as soon as the wind is shut safely outside the door.
Okay, it’s not all ranting and raving… I actually enjoy all four seasons here. In fact, on this first day of summer, I may have started my very own little tradition, today. At least I hope it will become one.
The rain has caused everything in our yard to come to life, to turn three shades of green, and our roses have opened up to give us their very first greeting of the season. One of my favorite things about living here as a child was the fantastic spring and summer bouquets my mom would bring in from our very own yard. She’d place them proudly on the table, arranging them as if she were a paid florist.
As I walked to get the mail today, I noticed several red blooms from our rose bushes. They were calling out to me, pining to be plucked, to be part of the first bouquet to sit on my windowsill. I thought about cutting them just then, but realized it would be more than challenging with a baby on my hip and a three year old wanting the “help.” Later I told myself. And later came just before the sun went down (well I guess I couldn’t really tell since we never saw the sun at all today and the sky just turned a slightly darker shade of grey, but it was after the boys were in bed anyways). I got out my rose pruners and a small vase, clipped a large blossom, some that hadn’t yet opened, and one that was just on the brink of something spectacular. I like to choose them at all three different stages; it makes the bouquet more interesting, less commercial looking, and last longer with continual budding.
After arranging the freshly cut flowers and adding some water to the vase, I set them on my windowsill. They are exquisite. As I look at them I feel my mom’s sense of pride, her joy, I feel more at home then I did only minutes ago. Even the roses shake the rain from their velvety petals as they settle into their new residence. It is summer; there is no denying that. My hope, as you may have guessed, is that every year on the first day of Summer, my roses will pine to be plucked, and I will bring in the most beautiful and first bouquet of the season that will make my house feel more like home all over again.