Memorial Day weekend is here, and with it, the hum of lawnmowers, the smell of charcoal smoke in the air, and the unmistakable sense that we’ve collectively decided—ready or not—it’s summer. For most people, this marks the beginning of the best season of the year. They count down the days, swap out the seasonal bins, and make bucket lists brimming with beach days, patio dinners, and lake weekends.

But for me?

It comes with a quiet dread.

It’s not that I dislike summer itself. I love the way light lingers late into the evening, the peonies that bloom in sudden splendor, the sound of bare feet slapping against a porch floor. But summer also brings a kind of frenzied momentum I struggle to keep up with. The calendar becomes an ever-tightening scroll of weddings and vacations and graduation parties, each one more Pinterest-worthy than the last. I blink, and it’s mid-July, and I’m not sure where the time went—only that I forgot to pause and savor any of it.

The pressure to make the most of summer can feel overwhelming. There’s this invisible current pushing us to do more, go faster, fill every moment. When did “relaxing” become something else to schedule? When did we start equating joy with productivity, even during the season that should feel the most free?

Maybe it’s a symptom of our culture—this hustle to achieve, to experience, to capture the perfect sunset photo for Instagram with a caption that suggests spontaneity (even though we took twelve versions to get the lighting right). Or maybe it’s just me, caught between a deep yearning to be present and a nagging sense that I’m falling behind on my own life.

I think a lot about home this time of year. The kind of home where screen doors slam and lemon bars cool on the counter. The kind of home we’re trying to preserve and nurture here at Love of Luverne. A home that doesn’t demand anything of us except that we show up and sit still for a while.

I want to believe that we can reclaim some of that slow-living spirit. That it’s okay to say no to another event. That it’s enough to eat corn on the cob at your own kitchen table, barefoot and with a napkin tucked into your collar. That a good summer doesn’t have to be “epic”—it just has to feel like yours.

So this summer, I’m trying something different. I’m trading a packed itinerary for slow mornings and early evening walks. I’m giving myself permission to skip the big things in favor of small joys—like bomb pops after daycare pick up and a beer on our front steps after toddler bedtime. I’m letting go of the pressure to constantly be somewhere else and remembering that home is where I feel most grounded.

If you’re feeling it too—that tug between wanting to do it all and wanting to do nothing at all—you’re not alone. Maybe we can both agree to let the season unfold a little more gently this year. To cherish the corners of our homes and the quiet in-between moments. To create space for stillness and softness in a season that doesn’t always allow it.

Because summer, like everything else, isn’t about how much we cram into it. It’s about how much we notice while we’re in it.

Here’s to noticing.

All my love,

Lauren