Summer doesn't just sneak up on us like spring does. It bounds in like a proud peacock, its profusion in full display. How it knows just when to bestow its gifts is lovingly contemplated by Lana Watkins of the food blog Bibberche, who recalls that summer arrives just as the Strawberry Alarm Clock chimes. Deliciously reminding us that "bounty always receives part of its value from the manner in which it is bestowed." Samuel Johnson GREG
I don't know exactly how it happens, but on a particular night every year, a thousand pale yellow buds burst open on the linden trees lining our quiet street in Serbia, sending the smell of summer on the light breeze, weaving around lacy curtains and squeezing through the window slats until it reaches me, gently tickling my nose until I smile in my sleep. The next morning I jump out of bed, open the windows all the way, and breathe in the sweet scent that promises the end of school and the beginning of another carefree and luxurious summer.
Mother comes home from the market, her pretty face flushed from walking too fast and carrying heavy canvas bags in each hand. She carefully places the produce, still warm from the sun, on the kitchen table, turning the tablecloth back, careful not to get it soiled from the dirt still clinging to the roots and leaves. The color of the Serbian farmers market in spring is lusciously green, ranging from the almost fluorescent hue of crisp fresh peas, to the light tinge of the bibb lettuces, to fresh grassy colored scallions, to darker bunches of spinach, and even darker parsley loosely bound with pink rubber bands.
