“The fire burns. The pages turn.”
— Jordan, ominously, on seeing a campfire for the first time
The great wheel keeps turning, and summer is upon us again in the Bay State. In a flash, we have a 2.5-year-old toddler who can speak two languages in complex sentences (“The helicopter brings the spider to the hospital to see the doctor!” he says while watching a Twitch stream that involves none of those nouns), who loves to hum and dance and sing, and who is suddenly potty-trained after some quick practice during the week I was in Spain. Jordan has become even more of a sweetheart, very good at saying ‘thank you’ (still working on consistency of ‘please’), equally capable of hugging me tightly and telling me loves me, or telling me to get out of “Jordan and mama’s” room and go back to mine. He’s started calling me Daddy instead of BaBa for some reason. And he’s developed a love of being outside, of playing with his best daycare friends in the park, scrounging around in the dirt, and exploring in the woods. We’re spending the early part of the summer taking our mobile monster into green spaces and doing more things in the great outdoors with him; up next (over the coming months) are a lakeside trip to New Hampshire and an early fall visit (his first) to Maryland. Amidst all the other things that keep Jane and me busy, being with Jordan as he grows older, and absorbing some of his sense of play and wonder, is much of what keeps us going, and keeps us sane.
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June 19, 2025: An impressively hot day; I take the Juneteenth holiday off to be with Jane and Jordan, after recently graduating our latest class of palliative medicine fellows. Although our original plan was to camp by Tully Lake, we cancel in light of the incoming heat wave as well as afternoon thunderstorms. Instead, we take Jordan for an early morning walk through the Allandale Woods - the very first place we “hiked” with Jordan in the backpack when he was a mere five months old. Two years later, he’s running off into the forest by himself, leading us forward along the path (“Daddy, come on!”). He makes it an impressive mile (through the woods and to Allandale Farm on the other side; I jog back through the woods to move the car along) before asking for a snack and to be carried. After we explore the edge of the lily pond at Allandale Farm (showing Jordan the “turtle family” - a group of painted turtles basking on a log), we end our morning by playing at the playground in Larz Anderson Park and then getting Japanese food and ice cream in Coolidge Corner.
June 21, 2025: The summer solstice, and our rescheduled camping outing; after all, we already have all the equipment and food. I’ve booked a simple car-camp in Wompatuck State Park, a little spot in the woods with conveniently located water, bathroom, and showers just a few hundred feet away. Jordan can’t stop talking about sleeping in the forest, and it’s his first time seeing a campfire. After sundown, we tuck in, in our giant 6-person palace of a tent (plenty of room for our bags, our mats, and Jordan’s entire travel crib from home. All in all, despite a somewhat noisy environment in the campground (it’s the beginning of summer vacation - lots of families around), we get a pretty good night of sleep. Jordan and I wake before dawn (5 AM) to the sound of birds singing in the trees; we make silly faces at each other from across the tent while trying not to wake Jane.
