The story of any one of us is in some measure the story of us all. ~Frederick Buechner

Summer in Chicago

Horner Park, Chicago. Photo by rjurewicz.

 

Summer can be hard in the city.

Especially for a Minnesota girl. The land of 10,000 lakes. And grass, trees. The pine trees. The birch trees. Just trees. Loons. And the smell of water.

So, I rarely look forward to summer in Chicago. Unless I have a vacation planned.

It is hard to find a patch of good grass in the city, even with all the parks. One you want to lay in, anyway.

My son Matthew plays baseball each year at Horner Park.

I forget, that every year during baseball season, I marvel at this beautiful park and what a gem it is in the city.

It is primarily a baseball park; several diamonds, meticulously maintained. But there are also: trees.  Hugh, shady trees. And grass. A sea of thick, manicured, green, fragrant grass.

My one year old, Alexander, and I needed to get out of the house. So we went to big brother’s baseball game. Little league games require patience. Well, okay; they can be boring.

So, Alexander and I played in the grass. For hours. We laid in the grass and looked at the sky. We rolled a ball back and forth, in the grass. And went “ni-night” some more in the grass.

We watched the swallows swoop low to gather grass for their nests. It was so, incredibly, surprisingly, peaceful.

I am not missing the next game, because I want to lie in the grass again, and look at the sky.

Laura Crozier
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