A bump in the road, and moments of joy

I usually don't do well in summer.
The heat saps me of energy, sunlight hurts my eyes, and I only go out early in the morning or at night, when temperatures drop and it's nicely cool.

This year we have been lucky and only had a few truly hot days, scattered among mild, breezy days and the odd shower.

The garden thrived in this kind of weather, although we're on a drought alert and can only water flowers with collected rainwater.
We're having a late heatwave right now, but by the end of the week temperatures will go down again, and we might even get some welcome rain.

While grateful for this mild summer, and for our four water tanks, at the beginning of July something happened in my personal life that completely knocked me down - I couldn't sleep well, I was fatigued and felt extremely anxious, and occasionally panicky.

All my energy went into looking after my mental health, and I didn't create much. I started a painting, jotted down a few ideas for future projects, and wrote on my journal to release the anxiety and figure out how to overcome this challenge, but my camera languished on a shelf.

When I thought the worst was over, something similar happened again, something even more exhausting, and now I find myself completely spent.

I know that I will need a few weeks to recover, but this time I can feel a shift, and I see this set back as an opportunity for introspection and change.

Being a highly sensitive person and an empath I know that boundaries are essential for my wellbeing. I thought I'd learnt my lessons from past experiences, but healing is not a straight line, more like a spiral where we revisit similar situations from a different perspective and, hopefully, gain more wisdom.

I've realised that stronger boundaries and respect for my needs are necessary for me to thrive as a human being and live a fulfilling life.

These boundaries are now in place, and for once I don't feel guilty for prioritising my needs over those of others.

I'm exhausted, yes, but I feel lighter, and my recovery time seems somehow easier to navigate.

In this moment of my life I might not be able to create all I had planned, but I can share a few fragments of beauty that have given me joy this summer.

Getting a new kitten

In June P. and I visited a local coffee shop run by a charity that focuses on cats' sterilisation. They're inundated with abandoned kittens, and they keep some in the coffee shop for customers to see, pet, and hopefully adopt.

Obviously, we couldn't walk out without adopting a kitten.

We chose the smallest one, a tiny, scrawny ball of fur, clearly the runt of the litter.

Initially a picky eater, probably because of stress, with much patience and love he's managed to grow up and is now thriving.

He's playful, inquisitive, cuddly, and in the morning I often wake up with his little body nestled to my chest.

The fact that a creature of another species trusts and accepts me just as I am, and chooses to be near me, always fills me with wonder.

Cats are wonderful companions and true zen masters, and my husband and I now have the privilege of having three of them sharing their life experience with us - a true gift.

Flowering mint

The mint plants are in bloom, and they’re buzzing with an incredible amount of different insects, including many bees and butterflies.

When I planned our garden I tried to include lots of plants that attract pollinators to increase biodiversity, but I didn't expect the humble mint to become a magnet for them.

When I look at all the insects dancing around the tiny flowers, my heart swells with joy.

Scented flowers

Every time I step into the garden to get some herbs, pick vegetables and berries for a meal, gather flowers for the home, or just take in the glorious beauty of nature, the smell of roses, lavender, and honeysuckle wraps around me like a soothing hug. I breathe it in, and I feel blessed.

Making jam with our own strawberries

Last year we planted a mix of Gariguette and Mara des Bois strawberries, and this year's harvest has been so good that I had plenty of fruit to make jam.

I made it on the first of August to celebrate Lughnasadh, the first harvest festival of the wheel of the year that falls mid-way between the summer solstice and the autumn equinox.
I usually also bake some bread and decorate a wreath, but this year given my low energy levels I simplified my celebrations - it's all about intention anyway.

The pot of jam bubbling on the stove released a sweet, uplifting smell that wafted upstairs and permeated the whole house for a couple of days.

Now when I open the larder I see the jewel-like jars full of deliciousness, and I feel grateful for our abundance.

Going blackberry picking with friends

When I was a child I used to go blackberry picking with my grandmother.
She would walk with me along country lanes, a wicker basket under her arm, looking for the juiciest, fattest berries, and our fingers would soon be stained purple.

When the basket was full it was time to go back home and make jam. I was in charge of washing the berries and putting them in a bowl to be weighted so that my grandmother could figure out how much sugar she needed to use.

For every few berries washed I couldn't resist popping one in my mouth, so we always ended up with much less fruit than we'd picked.
- I thought we'd gathered more - she'd say with a puzzled look, and then her lips would curve in a knowing, kind smile.

When we lived in England I usually went blackberry picking with my husband, who in fairness did most of the picking whilst I did a lot of berry sampling.

This year a couple of friends joined us, and we spent a pleasant hour walking along the country lanes close to our house, picking and eating berries, chatting, laughing, and making new memories.

Blackberry season now reminds me of my grandmother, of happy summer days picking berries in the English countryside with my husband, and of beautiful moments shared with friends.

The sound of leaves rustling in the wind

At the eastern boundary of our property there's a line of mature trees - oak, chestnut, and pines - with some elder and hazel saplings probably planted by birds.
Those tall, beautiful trees provide welcome shade in summer, and protect the young trees we planted from strong winds.

When I hear the soft, murmuring sound of leaves gently swaying in the breeze I feel as if the trees are speaking to me, to remind me that I, too, am part of nature.

Sometimes I take a few minutes to just listen, and these brief pauses always make me feel calm, uplifted, and connected to something bigger than me.

The pumpkin patch

This year I sowed winter squash too early, so even in the polytunnel it was too cold for the seedlings to thrive.
They grew quite leggy and looked sickly but I planted them anyway, thinking that I'd be lucky to get a handful of small pumpkins.

For a couple of weeks nothing seemed to happen, but then those weak seedlings grew strong and the pumpkin patch went crazy.
Each plant quickly spread out and bloomed, and the flowers turned into a bounty of beautiful pumpkins - orange, blue, and white.

Every time I look at them I smile.

I think of Autumn, my favourite season, and all the delicious, comforting meals I'll be able to make from the harvest, and I thank nature for reminding me that even a challenging start can create great outcomes - a lesson to keep in mind especially now that I’ve hit a bump in the road.