Sixty seconds feels more like thirty
Tick-tock, won’t stop, around it goes
Sand through the glass sure falls in a hurry
And all you keep trying to do is slow it down, soak it in, keep trying to make the good times last as long as you can
But you can’t…
It just goes too fast.
-L. Bryan-
I wrote this back in September alongside a post of one of the images from this day. I share it with you here because now that I’m a parent of two, the insatiable desire to eat up every single second is more intense than it has ever been, making these words more relevant than ever before…
People so frequently comment that I must take tons of photos of my son, but you know what… I really don’t.
Earlier this summer we spent over two weeks in Portugal and Spain, walking the beaches of Vale Furado, exploring olive groves in Andalucia, napping on balconies in Seville, and eating endless dishes of gelato on the steps of ancient cathedrals from Lisbon to Grenada. Before we left, I packed my camera and my favorite lenses but just before walking out of the house to head to the airport, I decided to leave it behind. I know myself — if I had my camera with me I would have looked at every moment as a photo: ‘How do I want to frame this shot?’ ‘At what angle should I allow the sun to permeate the periphery?’ ‘What aspects of this scene do I want in focus?’
Instead of toting my camera around from one beautiful location to the next, and seeing the whole experience through a frame, I just lived it. Fully, wholeheartedly, and without reservation. I witnessed the delight on my son’s face as he watched the sunset over the ocean, as he admired the rise and careening descent of swallows dancing through the air, as he plucked pits from bowls full of green olives, and as he dozed off to sleep each night with thoughts of the adventures that lay ahead come morning.
In every beautiful location we visited, I watched droves of people flock to scenes from behind their cameras or cell phone lenses, barely looking up to notice a single factor of the environment outside of their frame. They were so busy documenting each moment to live it later that they forgot to live it now.
Other than a very small handful of cell phone shots, I don’t have many photos to remember that trip by and, truth be told, I couldn’t be more grateful…because every moment of it is so real in my memory, I can taste it. See it. Feel it.
Because we’ve spent the last five months soaking up as much time outside as we possibly could, my effort to keep up on grabbing updated photos of my boy as he grows fell by the wayside… until these last few days of summery goodness presented themselves and changed that.
When I wrapped up Labor Day weekend on the shore of Schroon Lake with this little man of mine, my heart stung with a deep aching… summer hadn’t been long enough. We hadn’t had enough time. I always feel this way, no matter how much of the summer I get to enjoy, but I felt it deeply when the weather started to shift this season, and more than I ever have before. Now that Covyn is older, I am more aware than ever that every single second we’re living is blessing, a memory in the making. So this past summer I took as many opportunities as I could to relish him. He’s in the delectably sweet stage that I never, ever want to end… so I let his days be longer than usual, let nap times come and go without putting him down, and did everything in my power to just soak up his toothy smile, his giggly laugh, and his kind and gentle disposition. He and I spent many date days — just the two of us — on the shores of Palmer’s Pond, Schroon Lake, Schroon River, and Lake George. We dug in the sand, ate as much ice cream as our bellies could manage, and often didn’t leave the beach until the sun went down.
On Labor Day, Cove and I stayed on the beach long after the lifeguards had pulled in the ropes and dragged their tall chairs off the beach. Everyone else packed up, gave in to the fact that summer was officially over and headed homeward. Cove and I stayed, holding on with dear life to those last warm moments before we had to hit the Northway. We closed down the beach that day, then we said goodbye to summer and headed home.
But last week when I scrolled through the local weather forecasts and saw how nice the coming days would be in the Adirondacks, I couldn’t pass up the chance for a few more days up north with my boys. The three of us spent last weekend together at our summer camp and on Sunday night Marty headed off to catch a flight to DC for business. Cove and I hung at camp for three long, slow, amazing days. We cuddled in the morning under the thin cool sheets, then hopped out of bed and collected wild oregano to sprinkle over our sausage and eggs. I watched on with a coffee cup cradled in my hands as Covyn ran through the grass with our dog, Joey, then we’d grab the paddles and life jackets and go for long kayak rides to the end of our pond to explore the base of the river, search for the smoothest rocks, scan the horizon for the pond’s resident loons and bald eagle, and sing songs we made up to fit the harmonies flowing through our souls. When we were hungry, we’d eat plums and cartons full of sun-warmed cherry tomatoes dipped in salt, and then we’d pack up and head off to the beach.
I am so grateful for these days, for this time, for these memories.
Here are a few photos of my boy in his natural state, in his favorite place. In most of them, he’s bare-bummed and covered in sand from head to toe and he’s wild and as free as can be. I am so grateful that I have these images of him just as he is, but I’m even more thankful that they’re burned into my mind just as strongly as they’re burned into these pixels.
