With summer drawing to a close and school starting back up again in a few weeks, I’m starting to grow nostalgic about the summer. Summer and I are not friends. We never really have been. To me, summer was always the time where I would lose touch with people, have bad sunburns, need to take medication for my mosquito bites and not be able to wear 98% of my wardrobe. However, maybe it’s because this will be my final year at university before I go off into the “real” world, but tonight I’m dreading the fading days of summer.

When I was younger, about 5 and 6, I would go to my grandparents house for a week every summer. I used to hate it the first couple nights because my mom would drop me off, and I am and forever will be a momma’s girl. But, after those tears were wiped away I can remember the gentle breeze that came through the small window in the bedroom I slept in. My mom’s old bedroom when she was a kid. I remember waiting for a car to pass down the highway, any sign of life this far out in the country. I remember waking up to my grandma making eggs and toast, and seeing my papa on his recliner watching old Westerns.

These are the moments of summer that I grow nostalgic for. The ones that I took for granted now that my grandparents are both growing older along with me. That’s something I tend to forget. Yes, I’m growing older, but so are they. They grasp at the small of their backs when getting up from the couch and can’t remember something you told them a week ago.

But, I do have those few summer moments. The time my papa taught me how to drive the old baby blue Ford. The times I collected eggs from the chicken coup. Always carefully stepping over the cow poop and helping with feeding a baby calf.

Summer holds these types of memories and more. I just hope not to run out of them too quickly.

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