Tage had his first outside bath of the year this afternoon, Olof gave our lawn its first mowing, and Lydia’s on an outside sleepover down at her grandparents’. All of these things add up to incontrovertible proof that summer has finally arrived. The temperature soared to above 20°C (~70°F), and for a time it actually felt too warm to sit very long in the direct sun. Rumor has it that we’ll be seeing 25°C (77°F) in the middle of next week, if you can believe such a thing!

Not too many years ago I would have scoffed at those temperatures being considered “summer temperatures,” but now they seem just right. Unlike my first couple of years in Sweden, I don’t even miss the scorching summer days I used to love in Idaho. After getting used to these mild summers, I can’t imagine even one day of 35°C (95°F) weather, let alone weeks on end of it.

The last summer I lived in the States we had something like three weeks in a row of temperatures in the mid- to high 90’s, and no rain for at least twice that long. When a thunderstorm and a downpour of rain finally broke the heat it was so glorious that I called in sick to work and rushed out to revel in the streets. I remember taking the phone outside and calling Olof, exclaiming, “Listen! Listen! It’s raining!”. He was somewhat less enthusiastic than I was, considering that was a particularly rainy summer in Sweden, but he did his best to humor me.

After we got off the phone, I packed Lydia up in the car — not bothering to dry my hair or change out of my sopping wet clothes — and she, my mom, and I went out for an early supper at our favorite diner. We were so cheerful and carefree that afternoon, revitalized by the rain, and when I think back now on that day I always liken the three of us in my mind to drought-stricken stalks of wheat brought back to life by the storm.