One of the watercolor postcards by LBC sent to sisters and grandchildren at camp

A dear friend of mine who is an artist entitled a recent painting, “Orange Kiss of Summer,” a line from a poem by Pablo Neruda, from “Soliloquy of the Waves.” I have been thinking of that line for the last several weeks, feeling that kiss every day…picking fat blueberries warmed from the sun, kayaking on Lake Dunmore with calling loons and loon chicks for companions, swimming out into big Lake Champlain. It is a heavenly time and the weather in Vermont has been truly golden and fresh with a good rain when we need it to keep the Green Mountain state lush and verdant.

I was lucky enough to join our son, Alden, last weekend for two visiting weekends at the camps where two of our grandchildren are spending seven weeks of their summer. It made my heart sing to see them so happy and engaged, surrounded by friends, sleeping in cabins, bright eyed and full of stories of their adventures.

We watched campers dunk counselors, enjoyed ice cream sundaes, visited bunks and met friends, watched a play, shared a picnic. My favorite, most unforgettable moment was standing next to my fourteen-year-old grandson, (now two inches taller than I), as he sang every word to beautiful songs in a full voice as part of a camp sing at dusk. I hadn’t heard him sing since he was little and we would sing along to silly songs I played in the car from Rani Arbo and the Daisy Mahem Band.

I came home and looked up the words to one song. The lyrics are a poem about the sounds, colors, and feelings we might have at day’s end. It turns out to be a Finnish Folksong called “The Golden Day is Dying.”

Here are the lyrics. You can listen to a slightly different version of the song here.

“The golden day is dying beyond the purple hill.

The golden day is dying beyond the purple hill.

The lark that sang at morning in dusky wood is still.

And soon beyond the meadow the silver moon will swing.

And when the wood is darkest the Nightingale will sing.

And when the wood is darkest the Nightingale will sing.”

The next day we attended a chapel service in a glade in the woods with tall shade trees and white pines and dappled light. I would guess there were several hundred people, campers, counselors and parents, some sitting on the ground, some in chairs. We listened to music of all kinds…a counselor acapella group singing The Road Home, a Bach Concerto for Two violins by two campers, and we all sang “These Green Hills,” which is the Vermont state song. Again, my grandson, our camper, knew and happily and confidently sang all the words.

I looked up through the tall trees at the blue sky filled with passing clouds, swallowtail butterflies fluttering in light and shade, and all ages of people gathered feeling grateful and joyful.

I read recently that collective joy is good for us. Not a surprise. It is the feeling of energy, hope, and belonging that happens when people come together around something bigger than themselves. It is a reminder that we are not alone. We are built for connection and purpose. We find it in times like these.

I am a very lucky grandmother. I carry the memories of singing next to my grandson inside me with joy and gratitude. I wish you all also a sweet summer full of joy, beauty, and connection.

Sweet Summer

Keeping a Travel Sketchbook