A TASTE OF THE 1950s: WHEN SPAM AND JELL-O MOLDS RULED THE TABLE by Ellen Butler

 

Since my next book in the Ariadne Winter mystery series, Deadly Secrets at Ballyford Castle, will be arriving on October 1, I’ve decided to discuss another interesting aspect of the 1950s that I have researched. Food.

The 1950s were a defining decade for American cuisine—a time when the kitchen became the heart of the suburban home and convenience was king. It was the era of TV dinners, canned goods, and brightly colored cookbooks that celebrated innovation, even if the results were sometimes questionable by today’s standards. Among the standout stars of the 1950s dinner table were SPAM and Jell-O molds—two iconic staples that defined the culinary culture of the time.

After World War II, America was booming. Suburbs were expanding, appliances like refrigerators and electric ovens were more accessible, and grocery stores were brimming with processed foods that promised to save time for the modern housewife. Home cooking adapted to this new lifestyle with recipes that were equal parts creative and efficient.

SPAM, the infamous canned meat introduced by Hormel in 1937, found its heyday in the '50s. Though it gained popularity during the war due to its long shelf life, it remained a household favorite afterward. Its versatility made it a star ingredient in many meals. Fried SPAM slices were served with eggs for breakfast, diced SPAM was baked into casseroles, and it often appeared in sandwich form. Housewives praised it for its affordability and convenience, despite its mysterious texture and salty flavor.

But if SPAM was the workhorse of 1950s cuisine, Jell-O was the showstopper. No dinner party or potluck was complete without a dazzling, multi-layered Jell-O mold. These gelatin-based creations weren’t limited to sweet desserts—savory versions, known as "aspics," included ingredients like olives, tuna, chopped vegetables, and even shredded chicken, all suspended in a quivering, translucent dome. As seen in the photo above. Served on a bed of iceberg lettuce with a dollop of mayonnaise, they were as much a conversation piece as a side dish.

The fascination with Jell-O molds reflected the decade’s obsession with presentation. Cookbooks encouraged women to make food look impressive, even if it meant encasing ham in lime gelatin or adding hard-boiled eggs to a tomato aspic. It was all about entertaining with flair—menus were designed not only to satisfy but to impress.

Beyond Spam and Jell-O, 1950s food was a playground of new ideas. Casseroles made with condensed soup, deviled eggs, molded salads, and pineapple-glazed hams were fixtures of the American table. Recipes leaned heavily on processed ingredients—instant pudding and margarine were pantry must-haves. While modern sensibilities may raise an eyebrow at tuna suspended in lime Jell-O, these dishes represented creativity, resourcefulness, and a sincere attempt to embrace the future.

Today, vintage 1950s recipes resurface as a mix of nostalgia and novelty. Some home cooks have become social media influencers by replicating these dishes and sharing them on various platforms.  Others incorporate SPAM as a staple in their meals and share the fun of Jell-O molds with their children and families. Either way, SPAM and Jell-O molds remain unforgettable icons of a decade that dared to dream—in pastel colors and gelatin.

ENGAGING THE FIVE SENSES FOR RESEARCH (AND MAKING IT FUN!) By Allie Marie, Guest Blogger

I’m excited to be one of the contributing authors for Sand in Our Shorts. My writing spans several genres, but most are historical mysteries with paranormal elements and time travel. While I can research settings for modern characters with ease, trying to authentically capture the past takes time and research—and a bit of creativity. I didn’t start applying all of the senses to my writing right away. The technique has evolved with time and has helped me create accurate and interesting settings.

My books are set locally where I am surrounded by the history of America. As a hands-on person, I can really get “into” my work. This has included shadowing a brewer for several sessions to learn the essence of his job, visiting naval museums to study a German warship, and following a beekeeper during harvest. I’ve developed a method of incorporating the tedious task of research with the fun part of “experiencing” it through the five senses. This is especially helpful to “show, not tell” my readers.

For example, Colonial Williamsburg and Yorktown, both of which are featured in some of my stories, have restored sites that mirror the locations some of my time travelers visit.

I live not far from the beach and have found secluded coves that match the settings I imagine for a future pirate or seafaring story. My photo of the fog covering the horizon yet leaving the beach and trees visible will help me recreate the scene.

It is a short drive to Washington, DC, or a train ride to New York City to capture the big city elements as well as the historical aspects of both cities.

Every trip engages the five senses, and sometimes what I call my “sixth” sense—when I seem able to breathe the very essence of my characters or setting through my research. Sometimes, however, my imagination does a pretty good job of conjuring up images of a location or setting before I’ve even seen it.

SIGHT

I like to see the sights of my settings, as close as possible to the real thing. My research journeys have taken me to 18th-century manor houses, Victorian mansions, and historic settlements to see what the homes and buildings of the past looked like. Visits to breweries, distilleries, and old speakeasies have been integral to my research for my True Spirits Trilogy.

When I visit a site that captures what my imagination is creating, I take a photo to remember details later. What might the characters’ clothes look like? From the deerskin-clad Native American to the Colonial soldier, from the Victorian hostess to the 1920s flapper, from the modern firefighter’s turnout gear to the business suit of the female executive, descriptions need to be accurate. 

Live demonstrations at battlefields depicted the size and operations of cannons, the outdoor cooking conditions, and the tiny tents nine soldiers had to share. 

Colonial pubs, wine cellars, and tasting rooms often capture the settings of the period, with brick walls, candles in lanterns and sconces, wooden benches, and tables. Sandy beaches, old forests, farmland, and fields capture the essence of nature when you stand in front of any of these locations and your senses take in your surroundings.

SOUND

I’ve been to Native American Indian Powwows, Royal Tattoos, and colonial reenactments to capture the sounds of Indian drums, the swirl of bagpipes, and the thunder of cannons, and I want my reader to experience it too. 

Did the native drumbeats send my heart racing as the warrior in war paint approached? It did when I imagined I was a settler facing the unfamiliar sights unfolding in front of me.

Did the swirl of bagpipes put me in the same mood as my characters of Scottish descent? It did when I “joined” their family celebration of Hogmanay. Did that cannon boon put me in the middle of the battle of Yorktown? You bet it did.

Does silk cloth rustle with movement? Does it squish or scrape like taffeta? A minute of my time (not counting an hour to find said materials) can give me the exact sensation I want to portray in the right scene.  

SMELL

What does gunpowder smell like after a gun has been discharged?

How do I describe the salty smell of the ocean on a hot summer day without going to the beach and concentrating on that single sense? What does a raw fish smell like after sitting on the shore for hours in the hot sun? How does freshly cut grass compare to wet hay after a storm?

Does that decadent smell of coffee bring a sense of relief to battle-worn soldiers or a contemporary character needing the jumpstart ahead of a busy day? How about the aroma of fresh-baked bread in a bakery? Or the smell of sandwiches and fruit when children open their lunches in a schoolroom?

For romantic elements, what kinds of perfume or cologne do the characters wear? Is it a flowery scent for her, a musky, woodsy smell for him?

Can you capture the scent of a building—the cold, mold in a dank basement, the wooden floors of an old butcher shop mixed with the overwhelming odor of meat?

TASTE

I want to know about the foods my characters eat, whether they are modern or historical. Is the roast fork tender or tough as leather?

How did the oysters from the James River of Virginia taste to the Native American Indians, or how haggis tastes to a Scotsman, or the dry, hard biscuits called “tack” that were sometimes the colonial soldiers’ only food? What foods have been a staple throughout the centuries?

Does whiskey (with or without the e, depending on where it comes from) really burn if you take a swig? What kinds of barrels enhance the flavor of a good, spirited drink, and does it make a difference?

Did freshly churned butter taste like the butter we buy from the store? I’ve learned that honey has different tastes if the hives are located next to other agricultural fields.

Does the character have the taste of blood in his or her mouth after being injured?  Is it metallic or coppery?

I want to see and taste what my characters taste in order to describe it well.

FEEL (TOUCH)

How does a newborn baby’s skin compare to the aged hands of its grandparent?

What does rough wool feel like to the upper-class woman who has fallen on hard times and no longer wears velvet or cashmere? How about that silk mentioned earlier–—can you help your reader feel it in your description?

Does the food your character is eating have a flavor or texture that can alter their experience?  An unexpectedly sour taste, chewing on a tough piece of meat, or stale bread can all enhance your story.

The soft fluff of the fiber and the prickly scratch of the bracts of the boll presented two extremes to the difficult harvesting of this crop, which will be a feature of a future historical series.

BREATHING   

 I like to think of a different kind of “sixth sense”—the effort to “breathe” in the atmosphere of the settings, and for a brief moment, live like my characters. And hopefully, so will my readers.

Using all of my senses to research my stories has become interesting and fun. I’m resigned to one fact, though. When I’m creating my ghosts and time travel events, I have to rely solely on my imagination for that!

 

 

BEST WRITING ADVICE (PART THREE) : THE ALMIGHTY B-I-T-CH by Penny Hutson

 

If you’ve read (Part One) and (Part Two) of my “Best Writing Advice” blog series, then you know reading a lot and not looking back to edit the previous day’s work are tools I’ve used in completing first drafts. Today’s advice gets me started and keeps me creating. 

I’ll beg my readers’ pardon for the crude sounding acronym in my title, which merely stands for “butt in the chair.” It’s not a new expression, and you may have heard it before. I used it for the chuckle or laugh of recognition it might bring, but also because I find it fitting to the task. Let’s face it. Writing is hard, and often the hardest part is making yourself sit down and write. To stop whatever else you’re doing, get rid of any distractions, and just write can be a daunting task.

I have a friend who’s been developing a novel in her head for more than thirty years – true story. Eventually, she plans to write it down and publish it but insists she’s got to get the entire story just right before committing anything to paper. As you’ve likely guessed, she hasn’t written or published a single word. Perhaps that’s an extreme example, but many of us are doing some version of that. We’ll finish writing that mystery when we figure out who the killer should be, or we’ll start that new romance when we have an original storyline, better hook, or more interesting main character. The reasons are endless.

My advice this week is to just sit down and write, or start an outline, at least. I never get any writing done unless I’m sitting in front of the keyboard and typing. Others may use a pen and paper or voice recorder. Some may even create at a standing desk. It doesn’t matter how you write. It only matters that you do. Sure, we get ideas in the shower, while driving or doing something other than writing; but we must put the words down on the page (be it virtual or real ink) or they disappear.

And just for the record, no writer envisions an entire story or nonfiction piece with every detail in their head worked out ahead of time. The truth is that writing begets writing. Ideas bring more ideas, but you must write them down first. I can’t explain why this is true, just that our brains appear to work that way. You must write out your first thoughts, lines of dialogue, or descriptions before the next lines will come to you. If we spend too much time thinking, like my friend, it will take much longer to reach our writing goals or worse - we may never even finish.

REFLECTIONS ON A SUMMER RENTAL by Michael Rigg

Sandbridge Beach - View from Sandwolf's Den 

For several years, we’ve followed an annual family tradition: a summer rental house on Virginia’s Outer Banks.

That’s right, the Outer Banks are not the exclusive province of North Carolina. Rather, this storied chain of barrier islands extends into the Commonwealth of Virginia. The northern extent of the Outer Banks is a strip of land between the Atlantic Ocean and Back Bay (and its subdivisions, Sand Bay, Shipps Bay, and North Bay). The better-known name for Virginia’s Outer Banks is Sandbridge Beach.

Sandbridge Beach has no hotels. The community consists of single-family residences, vacation rental homes, and three large beachfront condominium complexes (both personal residences and rentals). There are some small stores, food facilities, a couple of churches, and a fire station. Compared to the resort strip several miles north in Virginia Beach, Sandbridge offers a relatively isolated, laid-back vacation experience.

As our family has grown, so has the size of our weekly rental house. This year, we rented Sandwolf’s Den, a three-story beachfront home with an outdoor swimming pool. Yes, that’s right, we took a beach vacation and stayed at a place with a swimming pool. Over the years, we’ve learned that a swimming pool is a necessity, despite being adjacent to the Atlantic Ocean. If you can locate a house with a poolside cabana (with refrigerator, microwave, etc.), that’s even better.

Some of the other things we’ve learned that our family enjoys:

--A pool table. This is a great source of entertainment, especially on rainy days and at night. One of the family members often organizes a pool tournament—a great source of fun and entertainment. Other amenities to look for include a foosball table, ping pong, air hockey, and shuffleboard. One house had an electronic game console table (think Pac Man and Space Invaders). Another had a pinball machine (very noisy). Not every house has every amenity, but we’ve learned that a pool table is essential.

--An elevator, if the house has three floors. The elevator is a great help on move-in and again at check-out. Carrying items (or dragging them in the case of luggage) up the stairs isn’t much fun.

--Two of “everything,” especially in the main kitchen. Two stoves/ovens, microwaves, dishwashers, refrigerators/freezers, sinks, washers/dryers, etc. are very important, at least for the number of people in our group. It’s very convenient to have one dishwasher working while the other is being filled. Just multiply a dozen people by three meals a day (plus snacks) and you’ll see why. Most houses have mini-kitchens on other floors, e.g., a microwave, refrigerator, dishwasher, etc., which is very convenient.

--A ”media room,” to allow groups to watch movies, videos, television at the same time. This is especially nice if there are small kids. Usually the houses we’ve stayed in, lately at least, have televisions in each bedroom as well as large televisions in common areas of each floor, e.g., the kitchen, living room/media room, recreation room, etc.

--Gas grills for outdoor cooking/grilling. This year, though, we didn’t do any outdoor cooking.

--At least one covered, screened-in porch or deck area. Mosquitoes. Enough said.

--Bathrooms. Plenty of bathrooms, especially one easily accessible from outside (beach, pool, etc.) Related to this is plenty of trash receptacles, especially in the kitchen. This year’s house had six  in the main kitchen—three we used for trash and three we used for recyclable items. And trust me, we had to bag up the trash/recycling several times and take it to the outside bins. I can’t imagine having only one or two trash receptacles in the kitchen.

There are probably features I’ve forgotten, but those are the major ones.

One of our favorite activities each year is making tie-dye tee-shirts (or other clothing items). After so many years of doing this, I have enough tie-dye tees to wear a new one each day we’re at the beach house.

Of course, renting a house in Sandbridge can be pricey. But we don’t engage in a lot of activities through the year (golf, travel, etc.), so all-in-all it’s not that bad. And getting the family together and creating memories? Priceless.

PROMPTS TO INSPIRE YOU, PART TWO, by Adele Gardner, aka Max Jason Peterson

Want a dose of inspiration? I'm back with more prompts! 

As Adele Gardner, I host Adele's Writers Cafe, which is a live Zoom-only inspiration workshop for micro poetry and prose. These free sessions are made possible by Hampton Public Library. If you're interested, feel free to check out the ongoing collection where you can find past, present, and future workshops in the series (ages 18+, free, but registration required for each individual session via Eventbrite):

https://www.eventbrite.com/cc/adeles-writers-cafe-micro-poetry-prose-3651389

For more details on how these work, as well as additional prompts, feel free to look at Part One in this series.

Here are some more prompts I've created for your enjoyment! As always, feel free to use any part of the prompt, or let it take you in a whole new direction. You can even use these to further explore a character or situation in an existing work in progress.

If it is helpful, try writing something for each prompt for ten minutes with a timer. You may not finish your idea in that time. And you most likely won't get beyond the rough draft stage regardless. But having this short a timer can help us just get our thoughts out there, in some form that we can play with later. 

Travel or Transportation: So many ways to go places, so many places to see! Sometimes we feel a need to get away, find a chance of scene, or simply a change of mind. Think about traveling in the mind’s eye through books, media, and/or the imagination. Or science, science fiction, or fantasy traveling via portals, teleportation, space shuttle, interstellar ship, or tesseract. Or physically visiting another place on Earth near or far (as near as another room in the house; as far as the next universe or beyond); it might be a visit to family or friends, a road trip, or a daily commute. Will you stay in a haunted hotel? Imagine any form of conveyance, ancient, modern, or futuristic.

Time Shenanigans: We all need more time, don’t we? Explore time’s impact—or our impact on time. Have fun with time travel, time loops, déjà vu, past lives, alternate versions of characters in the multiverse when time branches off through different decisions or circumstances. How about the effects of relativity? Or time passing at a different speed for people on different worlds? Humans may experience time moving too slow or too fast—and sometimes we can change our own perceptions of time, living in the Now. Explore your connections to time, including how you want to spend it.  

Pets: The creatures we cohabit with change our lives. There are so many types of pets, historical, modern, and otherworldly; maybe your character chose one, or maybe the pet chose them. Pets can reflect personalities, but also influence them. Maybe the character defines themselves by these pets and wouldn’t live without that type of pet; or maybe this is a reluctant (though caring) pet-parent who made an exception in an otherwise pet-free life.

Missing: Is your character missing someone or something? This could be the emotion of longing for something or someone currently at a distance or out of reach, or the actual fact of someone or something being lost. The character might feel they are missing part of themselves but not be sure what the missing piece is. Or they might be hunting for something specific, or trying to reclaim a part of themselves temporarily lost by the wayside.

Family dynamics: Your protagonist has great powers—be they magical, scientific, superpowered, or as part of a pantheon or mythology. Write a letter from their point of view to a parent or sibling, providing insight into the familial relationship and a greater understanding of the protagonist. 

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Adele Gardner's poetry collection Halloween Hearts is available from Jackanapes Press:

https://www.jackanapespress.com/product/halloween-hearts

Themes of Halloween, horror, Edgar Allan Poe, and Ray Bradbury. The press has seasonal discounts.

Max Jason Peterson has two stories in the new anthology Coastal Crimes 2: Death Takes a Vacation from Wildside Press.

Old Ideas by Judy Fowler

 

          

We are at the dinner table, circa 1959.

My brother Steve, tired of fielding criticism from Dad, joins him in that pecking order project: father, mother, son, and three younger sisters. He turns to me. "Go on, chubby. Why don't you eat the whole bowl?"

He snorts like a pig. I'd just taken another spoonful of mashed potatoes from the bowl on the lazy Susan.

He caught me doing what I usually do at the table: pretend to be invisible when taking seconds. I'm also hoping not to be the one sent to my room for some minor infraction, such as seeking the private territory that having my elbows on the table provided. Compared with elbow placement—always grounds for dismissal at Dad's tense table—my brother's rude barb about my size slides by in the conversation like the gravy on the mashed potatoes going down my esophagus.

I pretend not to hear him, though I sit back from my plate. That was only his opening gambit. He finds a synonym for 'chubby' to toss in my direction while Dad is occupied with shaming our dog for begging near the table.

I can't get support from my older sister, my grandfather, or the baby. I look to my mother. Surely, she'll censor Steve's conduct, as she has impeccable manners—the best I'd observed in my eight years of life. Eighty years later, they remained so.

But my mother ignores my brother's remarks. My discomfort doesn't even register on her face—a beautifully made-up face, devoid of any sign of pain unless it's her drive to see things done properly. By the age of four, she'd taught me how  to answer a rotary phone: "This is the Fowler residence. Judy Fowler speaking. How may I help you?"

That very week, as she drove me to school, I'd heard the tear of fabric. I'd been sitting on my foot, and pulled out my skirt hem with the heel of a clunky Buster Brown. "Oh, no!"

"What?"

"My hem came out!"

I imagined the ridicule I'd endure from countless children during the day. The scornful eyes of teachers. I thought Mom would choose to turn around and go home rather than let me present myself like that. 

But she hadn't turned back. 

I assumed she had a remedy in her purse. "Do you have a safety pin? Scotch tape? A needle and thread?" 

She didn't. "Just smile," she said as she pulled the car into the drop-off area. "If you smile, no one will notice."

How I'd manage to smile while infinitely self-conscious, she didn't explain. I picked at the hanging fabric all day. I asked everyone if they had a safety pin. No one did. During a quiz, my the troubling hem drew away my attention like a cuticle hanging off my finger. I couldn't smile. When I got home, I removed the skirt and handed it to my mother to deal with.

She hadn't taught me to use a needle and thread because of her fear of knives and needles in the hands of children. She was also afraid of stovetops, bowls near the edges of counters, letting us dive into murky  water, and ovens opened without supervision.  You'd never know she'd spent two years during World War Two stalwartly facing the possibility that any day a telegram might make her a widow. Maybe raising four kids who were fifteen years apart in age, housing a father-in-law without help, and pleasing an ambitious husband and a new baby had temporarily overwhelmed her. Mom was not, for some reason, afraid to hand children a hot iron. From the age of six, I helped her iron my father's handkerchiefs. I'd lean over the ironing board from a tipsy chair and shift the squares of dampened white cloth around with my left hand while lifting and lowering a steam-spitting iron with my right.

The theme that emerged at that board re-emerged when I was twenty-six. I'd just announced I'd be living with my boyfriend, an indigent dreamer I hoped to help make a career in acting in New York. My mother wrote me a lengthy letter, the gist of which was that I would miss out on the joy of ironing my husband's shirts if I lived with him unmarried. It was 1976, when everyone was beginning to live with everyone.

I married him. For 25 years I followed her example, though my husband mostly wore wash and wear clothes. I helped him where I could. On my 52nd birthday, I admitted I'd over-reacted: "I made it to menopause," I told my spouse, "but I'm not going to make it till death."

Then I started my own life. It's been fun. I don't even iron my own shirts. The old ideas —self-consciousness, my mother's good opinion, and the urge to protect men—still hang around. I guess they're starched in.  

 

STORMY SUMMER NIGHTS by Sheryl Jordan

I enjoy summer for all it has to offer, but one of my favorite parts is the nighttime storms. There’s a special magic to summer nights when the sky is restless. As the last light of day fades into dusk, a silence falls over the night, a false calm before the storm’s symphony. The air, thick with the smell of warm earth, seems to pulse with anticipation. I always tell those around me that I can smell the rain coming. They gaze at me, some say, “You can smell the rain?” Others say, “I smell it too!” (Yes, petrichor, storm scents are real!) In these moments, the environment teeters between sluggish heat and the vibrant anticipation of rain.

The Prelude

Stormy summer nights begin with subtle signs. The breeze, once gentle, stiffens and shifts, curling around porch columns and through open windows.  Somewhere in the distance, a rumble of thunder announces itself as though a whisper from the heavens.

As twilight deepens, clouds swirl overhead. Lightning flashes on the horizon, briefly illuminating the darkening sky with jagged silver streaks. For some, these moments bring anxious preparation: windows are closed, candles and flashlights are found, and pets are brought inside for shelter and comfort. For others, there's excitement in the approaching storm, a sense that nature is about to put on a spectacular show.

The Unleashing of the Storm

As the initial heavy raindrops strike the hot pavement, the world seems to pause briefly. The sound pattern starts irregular, then quickly shifts into a consistent rhythm that drowns out the hum of air conditioners and the buzzing of insects.

Lightning streaks across the sky in a spectacular display, illuminating familiar landscapes in a haunting effect. Thunder follows, sometimes seconds later, sometimes as a deafening, immediate roar. In these moments, the lines between indoors and outdoors blur. People stand on covered porches, counting the seconds between flash and sound. Children press their faces against the glass; their faces are lit with awe and a hint of fear.

Within the storm’s embrace, time appears to bend. Minutes seem to stretch into small eternities as the wind howls and rain pounds rooftops. Power may flicker and go out, plunging homes into darkness broken only by the intermittent flashes of lightning and the glow of flashlights and candles (unless you have a generator, of course). Conversation shifts to whispers, stories, and secrets best kept in the cozy cocoon of a summer storm.

Beauty Amidst the Turmoil

There is a wild, unrestrained beauty in nights like these. Trees dance fiercely in the gusts, their limbs bending but rarely breaking. Water rushes, gathering in puddles that reflect the jagged light above. Somewhere, frogs contribute their voices to the chorus, a deep counterpoint to the frantic song of the rain.

The world outside is transformed. Lawns glisten, streets shine like rivers of ink, and flowers, battered and brilliant, seem almost to glow in the storm’s strange illumination. The air, once oppressive, is now laced with coolness and possibility.

Stories and Memories

Stormy summer nights tend to bring people closer. On screened-in porches and under awnings, neighbors gather, attracted by the display and their shared vulnerability. Old stories resurface: the time lightning struck the oak in the yard, the blackout that lasted until dawn, and childhood games played by candlelight. Laughter mixes with the rain, and for a moment, the world feels smaller and more personal.

Inside, families rediscover forgotten rituals. Board games emerge, stories are told, and the light of a flashlight reads books. The usual distractions—screens and schedules—are rendered irrelevant by the storm’s command. There is, in these hours, a return to simpler joys and the comfort of togetherness.

For individuals alone, a stormy night can become a moment for introspection. The noise outside encourages inward calm—a perfect opportunity to sit by a window and observe the world being transformed, while listening to the natural symphony of water and wind. In solitude, there's a strange feeling of connection: to the earth, to the weather, and to everyone who has ever watched summer rain fall.

The Calm After the Storm

Eventually, the fury subsides. The rain tapers off, the thunder recedes, and the clouds start to break apart, revealing glimpses of moonlight. The world appears washed and glistening, the air fresh and clean as if the night itself has been reborn.

The aftermath has its own enchantment. The sharp scent of petrichor lingers, blending with the fragrance of wet grass and blooming flowers. Fireflies resume their dance above the damp lawns, their lights brighter after the darkness that came before. The distant chirping of crickets returns, first tentative, then bold and insistent.

Walking outside barefoot on the soaked earth, one feels the storm’s deep, almost mythic, sense of renewal. The worries of the day before seem smaller somehow, as if the rain has washed them into the gutters. Sleep comes more easily and more deeply, carried by the lullaby of raindrops and fading thunder.

I love a good summer storm, whether during the day (especially when a beautiful rainbow appears on the horizon afterward) or at night. There is something about summer night storms that sparks something in me. I don’t mean the storms that cause destruction and harm to people or property. I enjoy relaxing and binge-watching a good show or movie (if the power doesn’t go out). Sometimes I catch up on reading or writing. When the power is out for a while, I enjoy sitting in the dark, chatting with my family, or lying in bed just listening to the rain and thunder until I doze off to sleep.

Do you enjoy summer storms? What do you like or dislike most about them?