It feels like June passed by in a minute while none of us were paying attention. I can hardly believe July is upon us and summer is in full swing.

Time has felt strange, like that goop that’s neither liquid nor solid. Some days feel eternal, because of their beauty or because of their difficulties. Some weeks feel like seconds.

It’s been a beautiful and bright few weeks. My great aunt moved into the mother-in-law suite that Jake and I lived in while we waited for our house to be finished. Another family member joins the commune! She’s always been like a grandmother to me, and we are so happy to have her here with us.

We had dear friends visit for a weekend, and it was a delight. I have very few pictures (which shows how much fun we had) but it was a beautiful time. Praise God for good food, good wine, and good conversation.

My garden has been soaking up the recent heat, and I’ve loved watching the whole process of growing things. I recently listened to a podcast by Tsh Oxenreider, and I can’t remember the exact quote, but she said something to the effect of: I garden because of the person it makes me, not merely for the practicality of growing food. And the more I garden, the more I agree with her.

This is another way time has felt strange this month: every morning I walked among my tomatoes and peppers and zucchini as I watered, yet I was always surprised to see bright red jewels among the leaves, or a ridiculously huge zucchini growing on the edge of the garden box.

It reminds me of watching Michael grow: I nourish and cherish him daily, yet still am surprised by how much he’s changed month by month.

My finger has been healing, slowly but surely. It’s been a process — the tip is still numb all around the wound/scar. For a good week, I wasn’t able to do any of my regular hobbies. I coped by reading a lot. However, I figured out a way to knit with my middle finger held out of the way, and was able to finish some projects that way.

We recently returned from a delightful trip in the Sequoia National Forest/Kings Canyon National Park. It was Michael’s first time camping, and he loved it. It was basically his dream vacation: being outside every minute of every day and playing with rocks and sticks and flowers and dirt.

Unfortunately, Jake couldn’t get the time off, so he took care of the homestead while my family, Michael, and I met up with dear friends. We spent four days talking, sitting around campfires, laughing, and enjoying the glorious creation all around us.

I think this national park and national forest is my favorite place in the entire world. I can’t find the words to describe the peace I feel in the chilled mountain air, surrounded by giant trees that have seen centuries pass, with the snow-capped peaks in the distance.

I feel like time moves differently there, too. Outside of the reach of technology and most of civilization, things are slower. Quieter.

For most of the trip, I didn’t have my phone on me and didn’t wear a watch. At first, I found myself starting to reach for my empty pocket, antsy or feeling phantom notifications. Then I finally started to relax. I stopped thinking about my email, or what I might be missing on the Internet. I guessed the passage of time by the sun and my body. I filled my time with knitting or reading or conversation or walks or naps. I woke up to and fell asleep with the sun.

How much has technology changed our perception of time? We’re so used to instant gratification: from being able to look up answers in the moment, to talking to people across the globe in seconds, to cooking on stoves and using flush toilets.

Camping in the mountains really these strips away and forces slowness and forethought. While not all technology is bad (I, for one, am quite grateful for showers) I do think we should be mindful that while it relieves us of inconvenience, it can also relieve us of virtues like patience and prudence.

So if there’s anything I want to hold near and dear to my heart from this month, it’s this appreciation of wild mountain time. I want it to permeate the rest of my life. I want my perception of life to be in rhythm with the natural world. To look for ways to cultivate patience by choosing to do things slowly and intentionally even if a quicker and easier way may exist. To focus less on the fleeting, instant gratification of notifications and more on the slowly ripening tomato on the vine, or the new tooth in my toddler’s grin, or the simple joy of a glass of wine with a friend.