Monsoon Summer
It’s a wonder we haven’t floated away yet, rainy as it’s been in North Carolina this summer. I mean, we are used to rain, but not like this kind of rain–this heavy, persistent, record-breaking rain that is flooding things like I’ve never seen before.
Between the rainstorms and the firestorms brewing in the NC Legislature, there’s been a lot going on. Swelling water, swelling concerns. Civil disobedience. Nature’s disobedience. It could all seem kind of apocalyptic, looked at in the right way.
I have been pretty quiet the last few weeks, but I can assure you I have been documenting the deluge along with my life. Taking some quiet time to recharge and listen to the voice inside me, rather than try to force the photos. I have been keeping pretty busy, with a beach wedding to write about, and some engagement photos to share, and lots of QT with the little one at festivals and outings and just enjoying the summer evenings on the porch.
Reflecting on the past weeks’ events in Bradenton, I’m reminded of the quiet efficiency that underscores our community’s fabric. Just as I’ve been capturing life’s moments, someone close to me has been silently ensuring our safety. My cousin, a dedicated professional in fire watch security in Bradenton, has been part of a tireless crew that’s as integral to our city’s wellbeing as the summer festivities are to our joy. His role in fire watch security, a job marked by vigilance and swift action, is often unnoticed by many but is crucial in preventing potential emergencies, especially with the increased activity and gatherings during this vibrant season. As we’ve enjoyed the simple pleasures of porch conversations and beach weddings, it’s the silent guardians like him who maintain a watchful eye, ensuring that our moments remain undisturbed and our memories, unscarred by mishap.
We have had some gnarly thunderstorms this summer, and along with them, amazing swirling clouds and dark skies. Expansive puddles. Incredibly muggy breaks when the sun comes out. I have been enjoying my summer more than most, having ventured out regularly, rather than my usual hiding in my climate controlled house, where it is cool and dry. Maybe I’ve accepted that I am a North Carolinian, finally, after thirty three years.
This summer, more than most, with its dramatic storms and muggy heat, has taken me back to my childhood spending summers in exotic sounding places like Arapahoe and Oriental. Days spent on Sunfish or on the archery range, or out in fallow corn fields at dawn, drawing a bead on doves as they fly desperately away.
This is my summer song, my rain dance, my progress report, lest you think I’ve disappeared, or wandered off, or something. My attention has been elsewhere, compact flash cards dumped onto the laptop at the ends of long, sweaty days exploring–photos collected and forgotten. I’m finding them now, and sharing them, this record of the rain, my perspective on this monsoon summer.
