July 11 - Backyard Barbecue

Gathered around a patio table with good friends. Salmon burgers, pickles and beans from the garden. Ice clinking gently in glasses. A cardinal whistling in the tree. Lilies, dahlias and bachelor buttons blooming.

July 10 - Margaritaville

My son once teased me for ordering a margarita the day after Thanksgiving, and rightly so. It's definitely a summer drink.

A margarita is sweet, salty, sour and cold, a wonderful thing to share with friends on a summer night.

I like them on the rocks with salt, the traditional recipe: tequila, Cointreau or triple sec and lime juice. I have no use for strawberry, banana and other variants. They may taste good, but they're not margaritas any more than a blueberry martini is a martini.

Apparently the Cointreau vs. triple sec thing inspires fiery debate, but I doubt I'd know the difference.

I've ordered non-alcoholic margaritas in restaurants a few times, but they turn out to be fruit smoothies in fancy glasses, much too sweet. I'm making it my summer mission to come up with a recipe, and I'll post it here if I hit on something.

July 9 - Sunset Grill

We live two blocks from the popular Boston restaurant that boasts 100 beers on tap. It's especially fun on blistering nights when it's too hot to cook. The exotic, international brews and pub food taste just right, the not-too-cold air conditioning feels wonderful, and we watch sports on the big screen.

July 8 - Biking to Work

Okay, I know, lots of people ride bikes year round as their primary transportation. But for me, biking is strictly a warm-weather thing. In summer, my 20-minute walk to work becomes an efficient, eight-minute bike ride, actually quicker than driving.

But the real payoff is the ride home. A leisurely pedal with a breeze in my face helps the transition from professional to personal life.

July 7 - Vicarious Vacation

Everybody's going away.

Automated e-mail replies announce that somebody will get back to you in two weeks. The guy down the hall at the office is driving through the Canadian maritimes, and somebody else is going to India. The apartment building is practically deserted.

I love vacation, even when it's somebody else's.

July 6 - Remnants of Vacation

It's back to work after a week of playing outside. My sunburned, scraped and bug-bitten skin chafes under business clothes. But I take odd pleasure in the discomfort, which reminds me of hiking, paddling and lounging at the campground.

July 5 - Sandals

My turquoise, wedge slides in soft, bunched leather look like something Bridget Bardot might wear. Cute!

But they are not as comfortable as the unisex "rafters" I got for water sports and wear almost every day in the summer. With thick rubber soles and velcro closures, I can throw them on and go.

July 4 - Distant Fireworks

We're not fans of the loud booming of Fourth-of-July fireworks or the traffic jams afterward.

But I've always loved fireworks from afar, the distant rumble and popping and the colorful plumes on the horizon as the day's festivities wind down. We had fabulous views of Boston's famous esplanade fireworks show from our Southie apartment roof in the 1980s.

In Atlanta 25 years ago, a distant fireworks show shook us from a sound sleep at 4 a.m. on July 5. The Braves and New York Mets had finally finished a 19-inning marathon game peppered with rain delays, and 10,000 fans had stuck it out in the stands to the bitter end. The team management rightly rewarded them with the Independence Day fireworks display they came for. From our apartment three miles away, it sounded like something in the nearby rail yard had exploded. One can only imagine what it was like for near neighbors. It must have sounded like a military invasion.

July 3 - Lobster Rolls

Lobster rolls are huge chunks of lobster meat mixed with a little mayonnaise served on a white sub roll. They are simple and incredibly delicious. You buy them at seasonal stands near the New England coast, perhaps with a few picnic or cafe tables.

Jesse and I had them for lunch at a stand on the grounds of LL Bean's flagship store in Freeport, Maine. Hoping for quick service so we could hit the road, we had a bit of a wait after we placed our order, but the delay was worth it. It was perhaps the most wonderful thing I ever put in my mouth.

July 2 - Early Morning Paddle

In the early morning when the grass is still dewy, the lake is glassy-smooth and quiet. I slip my kayak into the water and paddle gently, unwilling to disturb the magical calm. A Great Blue Heron stands stone-still on a rock in the lake, then suddenly thrusts its head into the water and comes up with a writhing fish. The live breakfast flashes silver in the morning light as it struggles to escape before the bird finally works it down its throat. Delicious.

July 1 - Camp Breakfast

Everything tastes better eaten outside. We favor a huge breakfast when camping and then don't think about food again until evening.

We had spam, country-scrambled eggs (broken directly into the pan, then "scrambled" with the spatula while cooking), sauteed canned mackerel and English muffins cooked on the Coleman stove, plus fresh Bing cherries, washed down with coffee and tea.

Spencer cooked and I "helped," handing him things and washing up afterwards.

June 30 - Lighthouse

The lighthouse at Pemaquid Point in Maine sits high on a mass of metamorphic and igneous rock that is sculpted by relentless waves crashing in. The stone forms ripples, ridges and stair steps, a perfect summer playground for the intrepid. The really brave stand as close to the thundering sea as possible and feel its power as the spray bathes their faces. Others sit motionless on ledges, drinking in the sea air and meditating on the ultimate authority of nature.

Pemaquid Light is depicted on Maine's contribution to the U.S. state quarter series.

Spencer Morrow took this photo.

June 29 - Sounds of the Campground

We had a huge campsite on the lake under the pines. As we sat enjoying the water, we heard a father and his kids playing at the beach. The children performed spectacular feats jumping off the raft, each big splash preceded by "Hey Daddy, watch this!"

Day turned to evening with the clanging of pots and cutlery. Like us, everybody was making dinner. Then came dusk. Campfires popped and people laughed with neighbors under Japanese lanterns, listening to summertime oldies on the radio and playing cards.

Finally, in the dark of night, we heard only crickets, loons, and a faint whine from a distant highway.

June 28 - Camping Equipment

The tent, camp stove, lanterns and cookware stacked in the corner of the shed look so sad in the winter. But come June, Spencer gets everything out and checks it over to make sure it's in good working order. Some of these things are old friends: the Coleman stove we first used in the Okeefenokee Swamp more than 30 years ago. Some are brand-new: the shiny stove-top toaster we bought to replace the old one so rusty that we couldn't lift the wires.

June 27 - Wiffle Lacrosse

In the summer aisle of the grocery store, we couldn't resist plastic lacrosse rackets with wiffle balls. They're not actual wiffle balls, but rather "fun balls," plastic balls in bright colors with uniform holes all over them. (Wiffle balls have slits designed to throw curve balls; not good for lacrosse) We bought four in different colors. I like the purple and yellow one. Before challenging Spencer to a game, I practiced tossing the ball in the air and catching it in the rope-netted pocket of the racket. I can catch it about 20 percent of the time. Spencer has about the same success rate without practicing. Fun!

June 26 - Kids' Toys in the Grocery Store

On a special aisle in the grocery story, the shelves are stuffed with brightly colored plastic toys. These are the precious things uncles, parents and grandparents buy, not because it's a birthday or holiday, but because it's summer.

Red rockets filled with water blast high toward the sun. Green and yellow molds turn wet sand into dinosaurs and starfish. Gigantic wands produce soap bubbles the size of bowling balls. There are classics like jump ropes, sidewalk chalk, paddle ball and jacks to while away the lazy hours of childhood summer.

June 25 - New-Mown Grass

First, you hear the distant hum and then the soft rumble and occasional crunch as someone in the neighborhood pushes a mower across a lawn. The fresh smell of new-mown grass fills the air, a sweet, clean aroma of sunshine and fertile ground, the summer smell you loved from the time you could connect senses with things.

June 24 - Cloudscapes

On an unsettled summer day, sculptural cumulonimbus clouds tower over the mountains on the horizon. Patches of blue sky peek between tall, deep clouds full of shadow and light.

June 23 - Ice Cream Sundae

On a blistering day, Spencer came home with chocolate chip ice cream and caramel topping in a squeeze bottle. We scooped the ice cream into bowls and squeezed on the topping. The first bite was so blissful, it nearly took my breath away. I ate my sundae very slowly, letting each bite melt on my tongue.

June 22 - White Clover

White clover is in bloom on every patch of green, city and country. Misguided suburbanites try to eradicate it from their lawns, but they are fools. The triple-leaves and sweet, creamy-white flowers provide precious summer entertainment for children.

First, there's the hunt for the elusive four-leaf clover. My sisters and I had faith that such a thing could be found, and we spent hours sitting in the grass combing through the clover patches. Our brother Tom told of a place in the woods where an entire clearing was full of four-leaf clovers. I believed, even though he couldn't tell me exactly where it was. I knew the woods pretty well, but Tom was three years older and much smarter. And a much better story-teller.

The second joy of clover is plucking the stems as close to the ground as possible and tying them together to make bracelets, necklaces and garlands. We wore clover necklaces all summer. When they got dry and brittle, we just made another. I was an extremely ambitious child and set out to make a clover chain that went all the way around our house. I don't recall actually achieving this goal, but I do remember stretching my incredibly long chain fully along the attached garage to the back of the house up to the picture window of the living room.

June 21 - The Smell of Rain

On a hot day, the smell of wet pavement announces a rain shower just before the first few drops dot the sidewalk with dark splotches. It smells like rainbows. The smell fades quickly when the rain begins in earnest and streets are soaked.

I've read that the smell is not wet pavement at all, but rather ozone or some other phenomenon in the sky, but I don't believe it. I never smell it in the woods, at the beach or in the middle of a lake.