At the Chicago Botanical Gardens, on a river tour of the city, and rooftop dining. Our favorite way to spend the fourth is with family, and Chicago is a great place to do just that. For a few years there it was an annual trip, then last year we had other plans, so we were delighted to get back to our newer tradition, this year with added sight seeing adventures.
A photo essay.
We left his camera home for the camping trip, so we are again short on Calvin shots.
June 24: Point of focus
Cortney
June 25: Round
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June 26: Sense of scale
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June 27: Ruler
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June 28: In the kitchen
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June 29: Little or big
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June 30: Big buddy
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Calvin 
365_2016 We are just back from our (almost) annual summer trip to [a park that shall go unnamed]. Almost, because we were frightened off last year by the promise of grizzly weather, and unnamed because in the five years since we started camping there it has become so popular that it is now nearly impossible to book sites without babysitting the bookings on the freezing January midnights when they become available for reservation. We may actually have to try that this year.
It is because of this popularity that we found ourselves camping in what I consider to be the earlier—the iffier, the chillier—side of the summer. But, while we did spend a full 36 hours huddled against high winds whipping bitingly out of the north, the majority of our trip was sunny and completely enjoyable. There's a part of me that lives for sweaty summer days, but the low-seventies were perfectly pleasant with the sun, and the icy early-summer water didn't deter the boys from swimming. Not much, at least.
There was hiking—almost mosquito free thanks to a dry summer and chilly weather. There were ice cream afternoons in town, fried perch at our favorite hole-in-the-wall bar, and putt putt on our way out of town. There were fires, and s'mores, and whittling, and doing dishes with the good old camping 2-pan system. There was snuggling up together in the tent to read at night, the lantern swaying as we were buffeted by an insistent wind. There was sand construction, and rock hunting and skipping. There were pancakes on the camp stove, popcorn over the fire, and a nip of Scotch under the stars after lights went out in the tent.
And on our very last morning, as we enjoyed a final coffee by the lake, Calvin playing with a new friend soon to be left behind, we saw an eagle tracing overlapping circles in the air, gracing our final moments with a natural splendor.
Until next year, [very splendorous place that shall go unnamed].
camping, hiking, nature, summer, swimming, traditions, wildflowers, wildlife (fewer shots from Calvin this time: a week of Boychoir day camp got in the way)
June 17: Drink the rainbow
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Calvin
June 18: My ride
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Calvin
June 19: Silhouette
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Calvin
June 20: Morning routine
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Calvin
June 21: Elevated
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June 22: Opportunity
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June 23: Muted
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It is important that we appreciate each other. So many little things go by unnoticed every day that are worthy of appreciation, and the truth is that if we mention each of them in the moment, we'd spend our whole lives saying thank you, or I'm sorry, or, in our greatest moments, you're amazing. To some extent, the many thanks that we owe each other are casualties of the greater good, because the many wonderful things we do for each other are expectations of our lives together. We are bonded by a mutual understanding and commitment, and with that comes the expectation of the benefit of the doubt. Forget love means never having to say you're sorry, life commitment means rarely having to say please or thank you.
Only that's not exactly right, is it? So we have these days throughout the year—birthdays, commemoratives, honoraries—that give us an opportunity to appreciate, openly and with all our hearts.
It's the little things. The trash taken out on Fridays, the mail picked up when we remember, all the electronics in the house synched and functioning.
It's the daily things. The water jug in the refrigerator kept filled, the little boy's teeth brushed, the coffee made in the morning.
It's the big things. Patience amidst chaos, gentleness amidst anger, calm amidst panic.
We do these things for each other now without offering, the same way that we accept them without thanking, and that's okay, as long from time to time we recognize the life we've built together and take the moment to stand in awe of all its beauty and all its flaws.
