The last two months my newsletter has been less consistent, but as we shift to summer (and some additional childcare in our house), I am looking forward to sharing weekly again. Thank you for your presence here throughout each changing season!
On a Monday night on the cusp of the summer solstice, I sit around a table with a group of women, and we discuss how technology is rewiring our brains. We worry over the speed at which the modern world moves and admit, "We haven't evolved for this."
So the following day, when my now-walking 14-month-old pulls at my hand to coax me outside for a walk, I let her lead the way. Step by tiny step, we amble down the drive, walking down the street at a pace that defies progress. We are not going anywhere; we stop every ten steps. She bends down to touch the dirt, walks towards our neighbor's ferns, and points at the spirea across the street. A quarter-hour goes by, and we are still just steps from our yard, and she is as content as can be.
The modern world sits like a weight in my back pocket, but I resolve not to reach for it, even for a photo. Instead, I let my toddler lead me closer to the intoxicating spirea. She points and laughs at the bees buzzing in the blossoms, and when she sniffs to mimic me smelling the flower, I laugh.
So much of parenting involves actively slowing down. First, the newborn stage requires us to opt out of much of our previous life as we adjust, but then, we learn to say no as a means of protection. I can already feel the threat of a faster pace creeping in: the possibility of a fuller schedule, summer camps, and fall sports. For this year at least, we close the door on the option, and instead, we get a kiddie pool for the backyard so that we can spend our evenings squirting water cannons at each other, squealing around the yard, venturing only as far as the park on our bikes.
Last night, my son's face was red after our bike ride to the park. I could tell he was as hot as I was. Even as the sun sank lower in the sky and the clock ticked towards 8pm, it was too hot for June. "Hey, do you want to go jump in the lake with me?" I asked, and he nodded as he gulped water from our shared water bottle. My husband secured the toddler in the trailer behind his bike, and they headed towards home and bedtime. My 4.5-year-old and I headed west to the beach.
I was wearing my swimsuit already; I had told myself it was because everything else was too hot, but really, I hoped this would happen. There was a towel in the bike trailer I draped around my neck before our family parted ways, and my son was happy to jump in the waves in his clothing. When we got to the beach, we parked our bikes, pulled off our shoes, and dashed into the waves. I paused to note how strong the current was once we were out beyond the break, making sure my son noticed it, too. The waves were rolling, intense energy traveling through the water and into our bodies. We stood in water up to my waist, my son in my arms as we bobbed with the waves.
Eventually, he begged to be let down, brave enough to practice swimming with me right by his side. As he swam, we talked about how powerful water is and how Lake Michigan is filled with joy and so much force. I realized that his swimming lessons while living on the Great Lakes will be as much about learning to respect the wildness of the water as it will be about learning how to breathe underwater.
The beach was packed, and as we slipped sandy feet back into shoes and hopped onto our bikes to ride home, I thanked my son for coming to swim with me. "We can do this in the evening all summer long," I told him. "Just you and me." My husband, an Empire resident his entire life, doesn't love swimming like I do, but I've found swimming partners in both my children. My daughter, though on her way to bed last night, is typically as eager to get into the water as my son.
This week, summer has fully arrived in northern Michigan—the heat, the visitors, and the more full work schedule. Every year, it is a fight to force a slowdown in the midst of the busy season, a goal I must actively work towards. After six months of most of my socializing occurring only during cold swims, there is suddenly an onslaught of activity. Summer events, friends and family visiting town—we could easily fill each day with things to do.
As fun as it all sounds, I am trying to keep my days slow, to follow my toddler's meandering steps around the yard. As we go for our little yard walks, I realize that our half-acre lot holds all the adventure she needs. My son, a bit older, wants to bike to the other side of the village, and that's a solid boundary for me most days, too. I am avoiding going to town at all costs and limiting my time with technology when not during work hours. I am working at saying no more, even if it means changing my mind after I have already said yes.
I have been slowly reading the book "The River You Touch: Making a Life on Moving Water" by Chris Dombrowski for the last few weeks. Yes, even my book reading is slow these days. Dombrowski is a fellow Michigander who moved to Montana and is now a river guide. He writes about parenthood in relation to where he lives, and his experience feels like mine, just in a slightly different dimension. Rivers instead of lakes, fatherhood instead of motherhood.
When writing about morel hunting with a friend one spring, Dombrowski wrote about slowing down to the speed of the natural world. I loved his thought, "that true knowledge of the land, the dense and durable kind, can only be gathered at the landscape's pace."
I imagine my children are still more keyed into the pace of the landscape than the speed of the modern world. Their bodies are closer to the earth, and their legs are smaller, so their pace is slower. They are more in tune with nature's timing than I am.
Sometimes, I feel pressure to do more with them than we are. The opportunities are endless; there is so much to know. But the more we do, the more we rush, the more it seems like I am pulling them out of their connection with the earth and into a world that begs them to develop faster.
Perhaps my motto for the summer is, "Go at the landscape's pace," which could also be, "Walk like a toddler." Or as the Ralph Waldo Emerson quote says that hangs on my fridge: "Adopt the pace of nature. Her secret is patience."
We'll read and go for hikes, and my children's little sponge brains will absorb everything at a slow and meaningful pace. Hopefully, my overly-full brain will deprogram a bit and get better at leaving the modern world on the charger in the kitchen while I run around the yard getting soaked in water fights with my husband and kids. As we play and plant and grow here, our attention to this place and each other will grow our care for it all.
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Things I am saying yes to this week:
Tonight we are heading to Suttons Bay for a fashion show release of the latest Nykamping clothing collection. The collection is in collaboration with Circles & Cycles Alchemy, and it showcases natural fabrics dyed with natural dyes. The collection, “Summer Solstice,” covers the changing seasons of the area, with a focus on summer, flora, sunshine & warm breeze. Tickets are still available here.
This weekend, BlueBird Farm in Empire is opening their strawberry u-pick! We can’t wait to begin our berry picking season here. Last summer, we picked berries from June through September, and we’re excited to visit all our favorite patches again this summer.
Next weekend, Sleeping Bear Surf is hosting Beryl Days, in honor of the shop’s 20th anniversary. The weekend-long celebration honors their matriarch and the shop’s founder, Beryl, who passed away in October of 2022. Beryl’s presence is deeply felt in this community, with her love of the lake and this village rippling out constantly. We look forward to celebrating both pillars of our community–the shop and Beryl, who we miss deeply. Check out the full list of events at the Surf Shop’s website.
Swim Club
While I am not hosting any formal swims this summer, you can join in for a community Sip ‘n’ Dip on Sunday, June 30 at 11am at the Empire Beach (by the lighthouse), as a part of Sleeping Bear Surf’s Beryl Days! Sip ‘n’ Dip is a long-standing Sunday morning tradition with the neighbors. Bring your coffee to sip and then dip in the lake with us! Interested in doing yoga beforehand? Join us at 9:30am in the same spot for yoga with Jess! I plan to be there for both yoga and the dip.
Thank you for being here. I hope you’re able to find moments of calm and quiet as we move into summer. Happy solstice.
Cheers,
Mae
Beautiful essay, and something anyone in the world these days must work to remember. My kiddos are teens, and it’s interesting giving them space to experiment with the pace they want this summer. My oldest is running hard with competition and skill development. My middle is stage manager in a local production, which is big but only 5 hours per day. My youngest, sleep til noon and go to the pool. It’s a challenger as a parent to watch them explore what is right for them, not too much, not too little.
I enjoyed this piece!