Summertime, and the livin’ is easy…
~ George Gershwin, Porgy and Bess 1935

Sometime in June, I noticed a very small plant that looked like a tiny corn stalk growing next to my front walk, right in front of my porch. I decided to leave it there and see if it would become anything. It did not disappoint! My little rogue cornstalk has grown over ten feet tall and produced two ears of corn—and it’s actually still growing. At some point I may be able to climb it and find a giant with a goose that lays golden eggs at the top. Or maybe something else entirely, because it’s a corn stalk, not a bean stalk.

Summer mornings on my porch are some of the best parts of my days. So many overlooked pieces of life happen around here: an overachieving volunteer cornstalk, hummingbirds and butterflies visiting my rose of Sharon and butterfly bushes, and the sounds of songbirds, honeybees and cicadas singing their summer songs. There’s also a fair amount of wildlife drama—chipmunk fights and squirrel squabbles, songbirds battling a snake as it tries to slither up a small tree toward a nest, and a pair of deer giving me the side-eye as they brazenly munch on my daylilies while I look on in horror. It can get pretty brutal out here—on a small woodland scale, anyway.

My front porch is my sanctuary. I’m surrounded by Queen Anne’s lace, my buddleias are blooming, and white and pink rose of Sharon are unfurling in pockets around my yard. It’s where I go to be still, to relax, to ease stress, and sometimes to read the paper and watch all of these little lives unfold around me.

My legs warm in a sunbeam, wind chimes gently tinkling in the breeze, the scent of morning dew and fresh cut grass, the buzz of a bee and a few song birds…
~ Anonymous

From April until sometime in November, when I’m not at work, this is where I spend most of my mornings. I love the ease of summer mornings here—iced coffee, lush greenery, and the comforting warmth of the morning sun on my legs. Today it’s shorts, bare feet, the scent of sourdough in the oven wafting through the windows, and a little damselfly that decided to join me for breakfast and use my thigh as a sun deck.

Speaking of breakfast, look at this ginormous blueberry! It’s nearly the size of a small apricot!

I swear I’m not trying to be cottagecore—this is actually just how I am. What can I say? I’m a bit simple and I like quiet things.

When my mind finally settles down, I start noticing little things again. That’s usually when I end up taking pictures, baking bread, writing blog posts or gardening.

When I say “gardening,” I mean my version of gardening, which is basically occasionally remembering to water my porch flowers, trying not to drown the little nest of wrens that decided to take up residence in my hanging basket of impatiens, or noticing a rogue cornstalk growing in an unexpected place and then literally doing nothing except watching it grow.

Is it field corn from the birdseed mix? A sprouted kernel of colorful harvest corn from last fall? Or maybe a dropped kernel from one of the little dried cobs I put out for the squirrels and chipmunks? (I know, this sounds ridiculous—I promise, I’m not actually trying to be Snow White.)

Corn variety TBD—once it’s ready to harvest. And how do you know when corn is ready to harvest? Damned if I know…

Sometimes the most exciting part of a morning like this is walking into the kitchen and opening the oven to see how the oven spring turned out on my sourdough. Then the inevitability of a sleepy teenage boy demanding to know when he can slice into the bread.

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