Huckleberry pickin’ and summer sweatin’

I approached summer this year with the same dread I think I have felt since I was 12 years old. At 12 I had passed the wonderful years of not caring if you’re sweaty, sticky, and sometimes stinky.

Summer and Katelyn do not mix well. Usually there are a few sunburns, lots of sweat, some headaches, and many bug bites. I do not understand those who wait all year to endure the high temps and relax in their crunchy, dried-out grass. There is something seriously wrong with you people!

Have you seen those women who run in the middle of the day, with the sun pounding down on their heads, and they don’t even break a sweat? Their makeup is pristine and their clothes look freshly laundered.

I’m not one of those women.

I secretly despise those women.

I wish I could throw a bucket of Gatorade on those women, and then drive off manically with the AC on blast.

However, now that August has hit, the very last full month of summer, I have decided to work on my bitter feelings. We are having a bit of a mediation, Summer and I. The weather is being stubborn, as per usual, and staying in the 90s for the next couple of weeks. I’m going to try to enjoy it. I say this hesitantly, and with no promises. But a solid effort I will give! Hi-ho, hi-ho, let the sweat flow!

Huckleberry picking (oh my goodness, pickin’, excuse me, I almost didn’t use my Eastern Oregon grammar), happened last weekend. Yes! I walked away with a fairly good amount and hope to get some more in the near future. I made a huckleberry buckle with some leftover berries from two summers ago.

 That’s my barely-hanging-on succulent plant in the background. He doesn’t thrive well in summer either…

My grandpa, the one behind this whole Sohewhistled blog, took me huckleberry picking several times as a kid. He was a wise man, that grandpa, as he packed a few gallon buckets to sit on while we picked. Saving himself from listening to the whines of sore backs and tired legs. 

I would whine, however, fairly loudly over having to use Mother Nature as my bathroom. Grandpa would grow extremely impatient and eventually tell me to go make friends with a fallen log or remain uncomfortable in silence. 

So rude!

 Here is Sister Silent snapping some photographic proof of us being in the mountains.

I’m happy to report there’s a restroom in the campground we pick by, so fallen logs and I can remain acquaintances only. 

I do appreciate the longer days of summer, as I can fit in my workouts after teaching piano lessons and still have plenty of daylight left. It’s the small things, right? 

Small things are about all I’m holding onto lately, it’s been a rough season of life, but more on that some other time. 

I have been making a conscious effort to not wish my life away. Staying present in the day-to-day is a lot of work, but life moves too fast to not try. So bring it on you last month of summer, just don’t break into 100 degree weather or you’ll leave me in a fetal position.


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