A Month Worth Remembering

Every August seems to arrive with people announcing that summer is over before we’ve even had a chance to enjoy the month. One trip through the grocery store and the shelves are packed with notebooks, lunch boxes, and enough pumpkin spice products to make you wonder if someone skipped the calendar altogether. Meanwhile, it’s still hot enough outside that walking to the mailbox feels like you’ve volunteered to spend an afternoon inside a clothes dryer.

I always find myself wanting to tell everyone to slow down. Not in the sense of resting or taking it easy, but in the sense of paying attention. August deserves better than being treated like the waiting room for fall. It has its own personality, its own traditions, and plenty of reasons to be enjoyed before we start decorating with pumpkins and arguing over the best Halloween candy.

This year, I’ve decided I want August to be a month worth remembering.

That doesn’t mean I have some grand adventure planned or a long list of goals taped to the refrigerator. It simply means I want to stop racing through the days without noticing them. Somewhere along the way, I think a lot of us started believing that memorable months have to include vacations, expensive outings, or something impressive enough to post online. The truth is, when I think back over the years, those aren’t usually the moments I remember first.

I remember sitting around the kitchen table after dinner when nobody seemed to be in a hurry to get up. Someone would start telling a story, another person would interrupt to correct a detail, and before long everyone was laughing so hard that nobody could remember how the conversation started in the first place. I remember homemade ice cream melting faster than we could eat it because Georgia summers don’t believe in taking it easy. I remember evenings on the porch when the only thing on the agenda was watching the sun go down while the crickets slowly took over from the birds.

Those are the moments that stick with me. I’ve noticed something else over the years. The older I get, the less interested I am in filling every weekend with plans just so I can say I was busy. There was a time when I thought being productive meant constantly checking something off a list. If I wasn’t accomplishing something, I felt like I was wasting time. These days, I have a different perspective.

A Saturday morning spent wandering through a farmers market isn’t wasted time. Neither is sitting on the porch with a cup of coffee while the neighborhood slowly wakes up. Taking the long way home because it’s a prettier drive.

Life isn’t only happening when we’re busy. Most of it happens in the quiet spaces between all the things we think are important. Living in a small Georgia town has probably helped teach me that lesson. Around here, life has a way of reminding you that people matter more than schedules. You can’t run into the grocery store for “just one thing” without seeing someone you know. Before you realize it, you’ve spent fifteen minutes talking about whose tomatoes are finally producing or whether anyone has seen enough rain lately.

Years ago I might have thought that was an interruption. Now I realize it’s part of what makes this place feel like home. The same thing happens when I stop by one of the little produce stands that pop up during the summer. I may have gone looking for peaches, but I’ll usually end up leaving with tomatoes, squash, watermelon, and a recipe recommendation from whoever is working there. That’s just how small towns work. Nobody rushes you through the conversation because the conversation is part of the experience.

I hope we never lose that. One thing I love about August is that it’s generous. The gardens are overflowing, roadside stands are packed with fresh produce, and just about every meal seems a little brighter because tomatoes actually taste like tomatoes again. There is something deeply satisfying about slicing into one that was picked that morning, adding a little salt and pepper, and calling it lunch alongside a BLT sandwich.

Those are the meals I remember and not because they were fancy. Because they tasted like summer. I’ve also been thinking about how often we postpone joy without realizing we’re doing it. We save the good dishes for company. We wait for a special occasion to light the candle or use the pretty serving bowl. We keep saying we’ll invite friends over when the house is cleaner or when life settles down a little.

The funny thing is that life rarely settles down. If we keep waiting for everything to be perfect, we’ll spend an awful lot of years looking at things we never used and opportunities we never took. I’ve decided that August is a good month to stop saving things for later.

Use the nice plates. Bake the cobbler. Take the Sunday drive. Sit outside after dinner even if there are dishes in the sink. It’s not like they going anywhere.

One of the nicest surprises about getting older is realizing that happiness isn’t nearly as complicated as I once believed it was. It isn’t hidden inside some perfect life that only other people seem to have. Most days it’s tucked inside ordinary moments that are easy to overlook if you’re moving too fast.

It’s the smell of bacon cooking on a Saturday morning. Hearing someone laugh from another room. Opening the windows after a summer rainstorm because the air finally feels cool enough to enjoy. Watching the dog stretch out across the porch like they’ve worked a twelve-hour shift when all they’ve really done is supervise you from the shade.

Those are the things that make me smile.

August also happens to be my birthday month, and this year is a milestone birthday. I’ll be turning fifty at the end of the month, and I have to admit that’s made me think about time in a different way. Not in a sad way or a worried way. More in a grateful way.

I’ve spent enough years believing that life would eventually slow down or become less messy. It hasn’t. There are still laundry baskets that seem to refill themselves overnight. There are still errands to run, meals to cook, weeds to pull, and things that break around the house at the worst possible time.

If turning fifty has taught me anything before I’ve even reached the day itself, it’s that ordinary life isn’t something to rush through while waiting for the exciting parts. Ordinary life is the exciting part.

So as August gets underway, I’m making myself one simple promise. I’m going to pay attention. I’m going to notice the peaches while they’re still sweet, enjoy the long evenings before they start getting shorter, and make time for the conversations that always seem more important once they’re over.

By the time September arrives, I don’t want to look back and wonder where August went. I want to remember it as the month I finally stopped waiting for life to become special and realized it had been sitting on the porch with me all along.