It’s funny

It’s funny how we can search and search for the way to be happy

And then stumble upon happiness unexpectedly once we have forgotten about it and shouldered the work before us

It’s funny how we can long for acceptance and belonging

Only to find it after we’ve reached out a hand to make the next person feel included and accepted

It’s funny how we can try hard to impress God

And slowly soak up the truth that He doesn’t want to be impressed, just worshipped and obeyed and allowed to love us

It’s funny how we can think ourselves nice and good and deserving

And one day face up to the fact that we aren’t nice or good or deserving at all, just another human being in need of grace and mercy

It’s funny how we can spend a lot of years searching for ourselves

Only to meet God and see that it wasn’t ourselves we wanted to find at all, but Someone much bigger than ourselves—Someone big enough to make us forget ourselves.

Produce Overflow

If you have a garden, you might be feeling a little overwhelmed with produce about now. This is a wonderful problem to have, but it can be a little overwhelming anyway.

Tomatoes, especially, can trickle in agonizingly slowly and consistently, haunting our days. There aren’t always enough to make it worthwhile to drag out the canner and jars, but they still sit there and stare at you until you deal with them. Sometimes I just throw them into bags and freeze them until they add up to a pile, but I get tired of doing that all the time.

I found a new way to use the tomatoes and odd assorted veggies that make their way into my house these days.

Here’s how:

1) Walk through the garden and gather random produce. Today I found tomatoes, onions, green peppers, chili peppers, garlic, basil, parsley, and kale. I could have added a couple of carrots, but I didn’t this time.

2) Wash everything and chop coarsely. Toss with a dash of olive oil in a roasting pan. Put into a 250* oven and forget about it for 4 or 5 hours.

3) Cool and blend. Add a little salt if you want to.

4) Grease muffin tins and fill with purée. Freeze and empty into a gallon freezer bag.

5) On a cold January night, pop one or two cute little discs into your pot of chili soup or pasta and enjoy an extra burst of August flavor.

I love this trick because it takes just a few strokes of a knife blade and creates very few dishes (anyone who is knee deep in canning knows about the tall stacks of dishes that chase us around these days). The slow roasting brings out a wonderful flavor in the tomatoes and onions, and you will end up with a thick, lovely purée without stirring a boiling pot for hours. What’s not to love about easy and delicious?

August Favorites

How to capture these late summer moments and preserve them for enjoyment on a gray January afternoon? I love the busy, full days, but they overwhelm me. I wish I could spread the goodness out so I don’t waste anything.

August favorite things:

•The clicking of crickets

•Mellow afternoon sunshine

Summer on a stem

•Overachieving everywhere I look—corn and tomatoes towering over my head, more flowers than I know what to do with

Summer on a windowsill

•A rapidly growing boy frying himself four eggs for breakfast and circling through the kitchen for an additional sustaining bite before 8:30 am.

•Work to be done wherever I look

Summer on a fence

•Writing ‘22 on quart freezer bags over and over and over

•Delectable little cucumber sandwiches that remind me of my friend Mardi

•Noticing that a Goodreads friend is actually reading books and scratching my head in bewildered jealousy (will I ever have time for that again?)

Summer in a bowl

•Loading up the van with towels and noodles and chugging back home very sandy indeed

•Tan skin and rough feet and fruit flies in the kitchen

Summer in a sink

•So many good things to cook with that working in the kitchen feels like a treat

•Bowls full of blueberries, raspberries, and peaches with a little yogurt and granola

•Bike rides and walks in the woods

Summer on a bush

•Early morning raspberry and blueberry picking

•A sort of humming, satisfied atmosphere in the woods, as though everything is full and content

And one not-so-favorite thing:

•A tiny niggling in the back of my brain that tells me that if I don’t find a little space to think in peace and quiet sometime soon, something might snap—(but how and when??? Please tell me. Perhaps I am not the only mom reaching that point.)

What do you love most about deep summer?