It’s summertime and as the ghost of Bradley Nowell puts it, the livin’s eazy!

Well sort of eazy. I’m trying to shake off what’s been bringing me down so I can enjoy the weather, the women (my partner and daughter), and the weed (whatever’s in the garden).

Things are getting fretful in my neighbourhood as we continue to navigate unchartered waters as a growing community on an epic mission to blaze trails seldom seen but oft-imagined.

I’m choosing to trust in the Way and the dharma that shows the Way.

I watched July’s voluptuous moon rise over the Northumberland Strait last week. Then two mornings later I left my tent at daybreak to have a piss. I nearly missed the sight of a teensy weensy crook of sunshine appearing on the sea-perched horizon before me. In minutes this solar sickle became an irresistible nectarine levitating in the house of the rising sun. A good omen, to be sure.

Watching my daughter dash around on the Acadian sands at low-tide was something that brought me so much joy. I’m moved just thinking about it. “Crab! Crab!” she exclaimed from the nearest sandbar. She learned to take heed of the recessed blobs of jellyfish wedged in the sand, invertebrates left for dead by the withdrawing tide that shall return again with its salty salvation.

A couple more getaways are in the offing for my family and I, thankfully.

Each of my five summers on the homestead has revolved around labour and the division of labour. This summer is an exception, and damn that feels good. I took up this lifestyle to help distance myself from the banal “life-as-labour” philosophy so widely adopted by debtors of the Industrial Society.

I’m still moving toward my ikagai or “quan.”

PEI coming up!

Happy Tidings, reader. May good fortune find you. Unless of course it’s been with you all along. In which case, congratulations!