I hardly know where to begin.  In the last week, I watched my brother be hooded as he accepted his juris doctorate; hugged my cousin, my uncles, my aunts, my grandmother, my very dearest friend, her father, her brother, her husband, her son; and drove from South Carolina to Virginia to Montana.  There is much to write about.  But tonight, as my brain slowly unfogs from forty two straight hours on the road, I am thinking of summer, the summer I just experienced in the green land of my childhood and the summer that is to come in my beloved Montana.

While in Charleston, helping Brother Dear celebrate his graduation, I journeyed to the Farmer’s Market.  If there was ever a definition of summer, it’s a farmer’s market:

Strawberries.  The very taste of summer.

Pecans.  The very taste of the South.

Chicory coffee.  I enjoyed mine au lait, with a beignet, fresh out of the grease, topped with succulent strawberries.

Grits, of course.  I stocked up.  Montana grocery stores, bless their hearts, don’t carry real grits.  Which is fine by Honeydew, but un-fine by me.

Flowers!  It will be quite a while before we see this profusion of color and scent in Montana.  Though I must say that when we do, it won’t cost $15 at the Missoula Farmer’s Markets.  My gracious!

Mmmm.  Pattypan squash.  Sautéed with Vidalia onions, you’re hard pressed to find a better side out of a cast iron skillet.

I don’t know whether this is true or not, but I found it pretty funny.  Your local grocery store just doesn’t have this level of personality in its aisles, no?

All three of these fish make me happy.  But I’m not surprised the grouper sold out before the flounder.

I just like their marketing.

Maters!  The essence of summer in the South.

Or is it peaches?  Isn’t it wonderful to have choices?  These peaches smelled prettier than the inside of your baby girl’s wrist, or your grandma’s perfume.

Now, who do y’all think taught me to love a farmer’s market?  My mama, the farmer’s daughter, of course.

A local beekeeper with his pollen. We had a lovely chat, about summer, and bees, and possibility.  I’m home tonight, back in Montana, where I belong, with my husband, my brother, and the dogs.  Everything seems poised on spring’s sharp edge, full of the possibility of big success, big failure, but big love, regardless of what happens.  Good to be under the Big Sky once more.

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