There’s a lovely thing that happens when it finally stops raining in Seattle: summer. This week’s heat broke all-time records, but I got over that once I discovered swimming. I swam first in Lake Washington on Thursday night and forgot, for the first time in years, that I’m an adult with a job that doesn’t afford me a summer vacation. I felt like a kid again, in the middle of a two-month stretch of absolute, glorious nothing. I swam again yesterday in clear blue Lake 22 after a moderate hike in the Central Cascades where the lake sits cradled in a bowl of sheer cliffs with the last of the season’s snow still hanging on.
And when there isn’t biking or hiking there’s the beautiful array of produce at the farmer’s markets here. Right now I’m swimming in fresh Bing cherries, peaches, zucchini, basil, and tomatoes. I bought 4 enormous, bizarre heirloom tomatoes today at the Ballard Farmer’s market. This is what it means to be a Seattleite in summer.
These weekends seem to stop time. The start of the work week seems months away, even as I sit here watching the sun fade over the hills on a Sunday evening. I’m raging against the dying of the summer, hoping the cool weather stays away at least a few more weeks now that I’ve rediscovered the simple joy of plunging oneself into cold water on a hot day.