Looking for Ladybugs

August slipped away so warm and quiet. It was all blackberries and blue skies. I feel like when you really feel that summer has arrived, it’s almost over.

It’s hard to remember being cold right now, but I know a damp drizzly November is not too far off. I’m just not quite ready to let summer go just yet. I’m still hunting for ladybugs.

There’s still a shiver of delight that swells inside me every time I see one. They were a mark of summer for me. I would slip out into the woodsy backside of our property, back when parents let their kids wander off unsupervised, and wander through the grassy patches and blackberry bushes to see how many lady bugs I could find. 

It was particularly satisfying to find one with an unusual amount of spots or distinct coloration. My mom had taught me a little chant to sing to them. If a ladybug lands on you, it’s considered to be a good omen. And when they fly away, they take bad luck with them, cleansing you. At least that’s what I came to associate with them.  

If I didn’t find a satisfactory congregation in the yard, I’d hop on my bike, sometimes with my little sister in tow, sometimes alone, and ride off to different neighborhood nooks to hunt for ladybugs and to feel the crunch of the street beneath my tires and the wind whooshing against my ears. It felt like the days lasted forever. They rose up slow and cool and quiet with a gentle hum of lawn mowers in the distance.

I could watch cartoons in the morning, ride my bike and wander around all afternoon, come home for lunch and a nap or read a book and still have time to wander around barefoot in the evening with a popsicle dripping down my arm with the dog in tow and smell of barbeque in the air. There was always such an expanse of possibilities when you can spend all day dreaming and planning.

I know it doesn’t sound like a lot. Especially with how much busier my schedule is these days. But then why does it feel like I used to do more back then? Like I was pulling more out of less. 

Oddly, 2020 felt like a childhood summer to me. I know all the horrible things that happened. I wish they didn’t have to. But I don’t feel bad for enjoying how big and open the days felt.

I relished every morning I woke up without an alarm and no commute. I loved that I suddenly had time to stand still again, to look for ladybugs. Sadly, my backyard does not supply them like it used to any more. I think we had plants that attracted them that have since been removed. Or it’s a climate thing. I did find a few while on my many walks that year. And it was glorious. 

Since 2020, I have encountered more of them. Perhaps because that year taught me to look for them again. To look for the little delights that are hidden around me. The little bits of magic.

This year has felt like it was on fast forward. Like we all wanted to cram two Covid years into one. It’s been exhilarating to accomplish so much in such a short time. Though, I’m always floored that it still never feels like enough.

My summer has raced by and I have been panting to keep up, despite the joy I’ve found in creating and doing. 

Summer was always a time of rest in childhood. Now I work markets and other jobs so don’t get the down time I used to. 

Now fall has become, instead of the start of the academic, the start of my hibernation. I still like to do my shopping in the fall, a force of habit fueled by the desire for cozy new sweaters and socks, but now instead of adding more activities and work to my to-do list, I wind down and rest. 

Besides reading, baking and maybe some art, I don’t plan on doing much this fall. I started off September with planning my days off and giving myself a four day labor day weekend. 

Though I struggle with feeling like I deserve down time, most likely stemming from culture that conflates your worth with hard work and money. To stop working is to stop mattering. But I told myself to shut up and take a nap. 

I baked and binged watched Bridgerton and relished in the escape.

My birthday is September 15. I’ll be working from home that day and then I will be taking Saturday and Sunday off from market duty. I love the farmer’s markets, but I’ve decided I deserve a weekend to rest and celebrate the choice I get as an adult to make my own schedule. Sometimes I’m still likely to forget I have that glorious godlike power to choose how to spend my time. 

That I am not as bound by obligation to things as I think I am. That I can step away when needed. It’s a good reminder. An exercise in rebellion. A kindness to myself. 

I hope you’re kind to yourself too. Enjoy the last few days on the cusp of summer. Feel the fall roll in. Count your ladybugs while ye may. 

Love,

Gia