Summer. Silence. Health.

To be honest, I am in a season of silence. Deep silence.

I want to finish up my 3 part response to tragedy series I was doing. And I will.

I want to write about all the vegetables we are getting from our CSA and how we are enjoying berry picking. And tomato preserving. And how everything is covered in pepper seeds and watermelon rinds and tomato skins. And how the cat has discovered the joys of outside and does not cease to let us know about it. And I will.

The truth is that some things have happened lately that have been really disheartening for me, things that make me question the goodness of humanity. I hate when things like that happen and blindside you so much that you aren't sure what your response should be. The truth also is that some good things have happened lately, things that make me remember that people are beautiful, and mostly good.

Maybe I will get back to writing soon. Writing is a good creative outlet for me and one of my secret life wishes is to write a book. I'm not convinced that will ever actually happen, but writing is cathartic for me. Writing helps me process things out and I enjoy asking questions out loud to spark debate and conversation.

For now, though, silence it is.

The year anniversary of the fire came. Then it went. My house did not burn down, although I was a bit paranoid about the dryer and the stove there for about a week. I discovered that there is truth in the studies that say the body remembers trauma - because it does. Our bodies literally tensed up as the date got closer, completely involuntarily. It was scary, but it is part of our lives now. We recognized the tense-ness and we responded.

I love being close to family, but I am struggling missing the smell of the salt breeze and rotting fish carcasses. The smell of wood fired pizza and eagles flying around my head. The sparkling splendor of white capped mountains and icy blue glaciers and whales leaping in the bay. The beauty of woods without ticks and snakes - filled with berries and plants that have had no chance of being tainted by pesticides. The taste of fresh salmon, clams, and halibut in my mouth. The juicyness of a salmonberry. The crisp night air where you can actually wear a sweatshirt. Clear turqoise river water teeming with life. My husband coming home with that "I live by the ocean" smile on his face.

Despite having a year in Iowa under our belt, the longing for Alaska will never fully wane. It is a gorgeous, majestic place that places a call on the heart of all those who have been there. There is no way around it, just a hope that we can visit somewhat frequently in the years to come.

This summer has been good. This summer has taught me many things. I am a homebody who likes to travel only sometimes. I care deeply about the environment and local food. I am now affectionately known as 'beet-green lady' by one of the farmers at our local farmers markets. Financially, we are making some really good decisions. Health-wise, we are slowly making good changes after the stress of the fire. Heart-wise, we are still trying to figure out what is looks like to follow God after our life experiences. I have been dismayed this summer and enlightened this summer. Family members have surprised me in beautiful ways this summer with goodness that I forgot was in them underneath all the muck that can become long-term relationships. Seriously, long-term relationships are something that take continuous work. Not just spousal relationships, but family ones too. I remembered the beauty of walking down a street with my mother-in-law, sitting by the lake getting eaten by mosquitoes at K's dad's house, sitting outside by the fire at my parents.

I am now in a place where I can see the beautiful in the world again. My life will always be tainted with the truth that life has lots of ugliness that needs to be combatted. We have to rise up and speak truth in those circumstances and take off our rose colored glasses. But there are times for rest and rejuvenation; times to sit and think and decide; times to look at my husband and smile, knowing that we're going to make it...and maybe someday even pay off that debt.

Ah, silence. It teaches one a myriad of truths. Here's to your summer and impending fall, wherever you are. May it be filled with joy in the little things, the small pieces of life that make up the grand puzzle.