Summer doesn’t ask us to hurry through it. It asks us to savor it.
When I think about summer, a memory I have is sitting on my parent’s patio with my grandpa Pat, shelling peas into a bowl. Huge buckets of peas that were picked from the garden earlier that day. I likely ate as many as I dropped into the bowl. There was something about the snap of the pea pods opening, the vibrant color green, and the fresh raw taste I knew I would not experience again until the following summer.
My grandpa taught me how to shell peas a few summers before since I didn’t like going to the berry patch because of the sun. I’d stay home with him while my mom and grandma Rose would go pick berries for a few hours. My grandpa never seemed to mind the task as he soaked up the morning sun - I did not inherit his olive skin that became more bronze as the summer went on. His hands moved with intention, never making it seem like work, even though it took what seemed like forever for the bowl to fill. Eventually there would be enough for several dinners and the freezer.
My mom and grandma would arrive home with the entire trunk of mom’s car filled with berries. The afternoon would be spent washing, sorting, and preparing them for the freezer or turning them into jam, sharing with neighbors, or some incredible scratch dessert my mom would make (raspberry custard pie, for example). In the context of “helping” I would sample my fair share of whatever berries arrived that day (strawberries, raspberries, blueberries, on some occasions black caps-my favorite) leaving pink or purple stains on my fingertips.
As a child, I didn't realize those afternoons were teaching me anything. I certainly did not know I may have already been practicing yoga. I just knew I loved sneaking peas from the pods and watching bowls of berries become jars of jam or bags for the freezer. Looking back, I now see those moments differently. Isn’t there something deeply yogic about preparing the food, preserving the harvest, and making time to do things well instead of quickly? They weren’t just chores-they were summer rituals, moments of connection, not needing to hurry, being together, doing what the season asked of us. To appreciate the work of the season and to fully enjoy the rewards that followed. To understand that not everything worth doing can—or should—be rushed.
Yoga offers us that same invitation. To move at the pace of the season-practicing with the season instead of against it. To appreciate what's in front of us. The freedom to pause, especially during the heat of summer. To discover that sometimes the greatest freedom isn't found in doing more, but in allowing ourselves to be fully present in whatever we decide to do-to savor it. Whatever that is for you, I implore you to fully immerse yourself: sit on the porch with your morning coffee/tea, walk barefoot in the grass, bite into a juicy peach & let it be messy, watch a sunset, look for fireflies, pick fresh herbs lavishing in the aroma, make sun tea, take your dog for a walk and let them smell everything, practice a gentle evening flow class.
