Oh hey June

And here we are.

Summer.

Or almost summer, rather.

The temperature gauge hanging out over 90 degrees yesterday was screaming summer but the temps this upcoming weekend are still vibing back in spring. I’m okay with this. I’m not a summer person. Or, not completely a summer person. However, I’m much more willing to dip my toe into summer on purpose than I used to be.

The people up here LOVE summer as much as they love their cloudy IPAs. Both started to rub off on me a few years ago. The longing for summer that each rainy day in spring brings is strong. The cloudy IPAs are also strong and any warming up to those I did since moving here is starting to fade. Is my tolerance for beer fading? Perhaps. Just another perk of turning 40.

But the desire for longer, warmer days did not fade… not completely.

I embrace them now more than I used to. Before moving west, summer was long. Sticky. Humid. Full of mosquitos. Hot. HOT. HOT. Since moving out here, those long, sticky, humid, mosquito filled and hot days have decreased in quantity. Okay, except for that long part, summer days are longer here. One of the absolute best things about being this far north (on the flip side, winter days are something much shorter than short – I promise, if you think your winter days are short, they are shorter here).

Longer, warmer days out west mean more days spent scrambling down dusty inclines into places like the one in the picture above. The tender pink on my shoulders and my sun kissed nose serves as a reminder of adventures like this one from this past, Memorial Day weekend. This hike was different, however, than the previous first hikes of summer. Different than any hike I’ve ever been on, in fact. This was the first hike we’ve taken since we hit that 2 week mark following our 2nd vaccine shot.

Fully vaccinated.

It wasn’t the absence of wearing a gaiter to mask up with when people were near (although, my neck has never been so happy as to not wear that around for hours in the sun). But it was that absence of a mask that made it different, if that makes sense. Without the mask, people stopped, not just to say “thanks” when you stepped aside when crossing paths, but to talk about the view.

To talk about their trip into the middle of nowhere to cross our path at this particular moment in time.

It was an unexpected hike for them, just driving through on the way south/north/east/west.

You’d have no idea it was there unless you stopped.

They just had the best beer/lunch of their life at this bustling little brewery off in some sleepy town and now they are setting out to discover wonders they’d never laid eyes on before.

We practically learned their life story and would gladly have shared ours. But the sun was hot, and it reminded us to move on, we all had things to do.

But the hike will remain a first for us. The first time we returned to what felt like a life and world worth getting out to see since the time masks came out and toilet paper was scarce.