On Summer

Beaches, forests, backyards; deer souvlaki.

This summer, I want to spend more time on the beach. I want to watch Kiddo and the Warthog jump over waves, watch the Monkey cover himself in sand. I want to take a walk with Mrs. CWD, look for sharks’ teeth and sea glass and interesting shells. I want to spear a tog, catch a lobster, ride a wave, cast a line. I want to get hot, get wet, get sandy, cool down, dry off, do it again. I want to smell the salt air with the windows down and feel my back sticking to the seat, watch the sun set over the wine-dark sea.

This summer, I want to spend more time in the woods. I want to hike trails, watch red-brown deer in velvet, listen to birds, avoid poison ivy. I want to climb to high peaks and low peaks, with Doggie and the kids and Mrs. CWD, with Grandfather, and Nana (once, maybe!), with cousins and brothers and friends and all that in between. I want to wear my “cool” sandals, get laughed at, go barefoot, stub a toe, build a callus, step on a bee, soak my feet in some cold, clear water. I want to paddle my canoe, see a beaver, see a mink, see a muskrat, see Kiddo catch a fish. I want to splash in the shallows, want to watch the Warthog catch frogs and turtles, want all of us to laugh and then bring them all home. I want to be out there and flush mallards and wood ducks, listen to geese, trail my fingers in the wake.

This summer I want to cook outside. I want to feel hot, fresh tomato off the vine, snap of cucumber, peppers, zucchini swimming in wine-red vinegar and olive oil. I want to strip thyme, tear basil, crack a beer. I want to hear orange-red flames on white-hot fat, sizzle, crack, feel it drip down fingers and chin. I want to build a bonfire, roast a s’more, sleep underneath the stars. I want to tell stories to Kiddo, Warthog, and the Monkey, tell stories to myself.

This summer I want to ruck with Kyle Shepard, sweat with Sam Alaimo, roll with Peter Maguire, riff with Jeff Lund. I want to write essays, write poetry, write myths, write true. I want to read and laugh and think and love, dance and laze and swim and run. This summer I want to build.

Of course, I’ll need to get to the beach. The car needs to be packed, loaded, unloaded, towels and chairs and toys and snacks (oh — the snacks!), wetsuits, spearguns, dive flags, rod and reel and flies and streamers. Need to get sunscreen on the kids, on myself (begrudgingly, after first a good burn). Need to get Mrs. CWD’s back, pack the cooler, haul the load, stake a claim. Need to watch the kids, watch the tide, swim out, swim in, laugh, curse, bemoan, relish. I need to get into the woods. Doggie needs her leash and her collar, needs to be sprayed with permethrin. Need to get the Monkey in the backpack, get shoes on Kiddo and the Warthog. Need to spray them with bug spray, check them for ticks (and brush their hair and teeth). Need to order a new pair of trail shoes, pull out a splinter, bandage a toe. I ought to get a new paddle, ought to learn a better tie-down knot, ought to keep sunglasses in the glove box. I ought to do a little more scouting, a little more prep work, ought to tie tighter lines and bring better bait. Ought to not hike too far nor too steep nor too long. Ought to remember that ducks lead to duck itch.

And, I need to get outside. The garden needs weeding and watering and pruning. The tomatoes ought to be staked, the zucchini ought to be managed. I ought to interplant marigolds and pull the garlic and replant with lettuce. I should really take a deer leg out of the freezer, should restock the woodpile, should air out the tent. I need to get to New Hampshire and New Jersey, to here and there and everywhere in between. I really ought to get more notebooks, buy more novels — get that new pair of shoes.

This summer I have so much I want to do and I’ve already spent so much of it here, clacking from my window. This summer if I want to get anything done, I better start soon: this summer, like every summer, is almost over before it even has had a chance to begin.

It’s not summer yet, but thirty minutes after finishing this draft, I did indeed step on a bee as I labored to water our raised beds. (“That which you manifest is before you.”) I took that as a sign to take a deer leg out of the freezer (failed, though, to order new shoes). As it thawed, I layered it in salt, pepper, garlic, olive oil, Chardonnay vinegar, and plenty of oregano, cut fresh from the kitchen garden. The next day, smoked it and then seared it over flames, sliced thin, and served it over fresh made flatbreads with a pseudo-tzatziki sauce and wild arugula.

If you’d like to do the same, you might take inspiration from the below.

This recipe is endlessly adaptable, but generally, the marinade is built around acid (lemon juice or vinegar), olive oil, and then salt, pepper, and ideally fresh, but acceptably powdered garlic. Fresh herbs, too, ideally thyme or oregano. Douse your meat — I used deer, lamb would be good, so would pork, even chicken — with this, let rest overnight, and then grill or smoke or roast or sear until finished to your desired temp.

The bread is 2 parts flour to 1 part water, some salt, and I like to add sourdough division, too. Mix well, let rest for thirty minutes or so and then roll into thin shapes, somewhere between a pita and a lavash or laffa, then cook over a skillet or hot cast iron, flipping once or twice until cooked through.

The tzatziki sauce would traditionally be a grated and pressed cucumber mixed into thick Greek yogurt, with fresh garlic, salt, dill, and lemon juice; I used instead our kefir cheese, the same Chardonnay vinegar, olive oil, garlic powder, and more fresh oregano.

This is all assembled and eaten quickly, between attending to children who need more grapes and strawberries and water and can-we-have-dessert-now?

So there you have it folks, souvlaki, or at least something like it. We’re watching Kiddo and the Warthog “graduate” today, celebrating this weekend with a whirlwind of summer. However you spend yours, I hope you spend it breathlessly.

We’ll see you back here next week.