Sunscreen: An Urban Ode to Summer

Confession: I really dislike sunscreen.  I dislike it the way I dislike closed-toe shoes that confine my feet, turtlenecks in winter, and sex with condoms. Of course, I dutifully apply it (sunscreen, not condoms) to my kids every time we go to the lake or the beach or the park in the summer, and I even rub some on my face and shoulders if I know I'm going to be out in the sun for an extended period of time.  But I still hate it.  Hate the way it feels on my body.  Hate that it keeps me from feeling, really feeling, the warmth of the sun on my skin.  I do realize that I am in the minority in this regard and that my views have become somewhat socially unacceptable.  But I've always loved the sun.  I've always loved the heat.  I've even always loved climbing into a car that's been sitting in the sun all day.  (Yes, I do realize that quite a few of you are questioning my sanity right now.)  Lately, though, I've developed a new appreciation for summer rays.  I find myself at Splashville with the kids, wondering not if the part of my back I couldn't reach is getting sunburned (it was, in case you're wondering), but whether the sun had worked it's magic enough to ripen my tomatoes that had so far remained a stubborn green.  Gathering blackberries on my sister's property for a pie, I find myself overwhelmed by a sudden summer breeze and begin scanning the sky for signs of a storm that might quench my thirsty greens.

These unexpected thrills are always the best.  I began cooking and baking because my brother and sisters and I were hungry and my mom otherwise engaged, but if I step out and reenter my house, the warmth of sauteed garlic, yeasty bread, or roasted root vegetables always amazes me.  I adopted Blade Beak and Star Baby because I wanted fresh eggs, but their antics will often catch my attention as I weed or water out back, and I'll have to stop to watch their earnest pecking and squawking.  I started planting vegetables and herbs because I wanted to make the most of my land and feed my family the best I could, but I have been surprised at how this simple, utilitarian act has heightened my awareness of the seasons in a very physical way.  Summer now permeates my being.  Not only when I play with my kids in the creek as the temperatures near a hundred or sip sangria on the porch with a mama friend as the fireflies begin to glow, but also when I catch the giggles with my thirteen-year-old niece while messing around on facebook or delight in the awed faces of my children, so much more worldly than I was at their ages, as they watch the city fireworks display for the first time.

And all this is a result of gardening?  Maybe not.  Maybe it has much more to do with maturing, becoming a mother, nearing forty . . .  But maybe not.  I know quite a few forty-year-olds who really seem to relish sunscreen.