yesterday was summer

a love letter to the long days and golden details that never really left

Some memories only come alive when the sun returns. They sneak in with the scent of fresh-cut grass, the jingle of the ice cream truck, or the tick of a sprinkler in the distance.

For me, summer isn’t just a season. It’s a collection of yesterdays that still live inside me.

You probably have them too—the flood of moments that resurface the minute the days get long and hot.

For me, summer always feels like a return to something familiar. Like the Beatles song "Yesterday," it’s a time I long for. A season that awakens the most nostalgic part of me. It brings memories to the surface, bright and fresh, as if they never left.

It starts at Rudgear Meadows Swim Team, our neighborhood pool and home of the Seals. We rode our bikes there barefoot, towels flapping behind us. Morning practice, weekend meets, greasy slices from the Pizza Machine. Childhood crushes. Friendly rivalries. Our own little universe.

I would spend mornings in a damp swimsuit, watching The Price Is Right, hair still wet and shoulders warm from the sun.

The soundtrack of those days still lingers. The hum of air conditioners in the afternoon heat. Birds chirping. Insects buzzing in the stillness. The smell of cut grass. Fields turning golden. A breeze soft enough to make the sun feel like a hug.

There were peaches and nectarines, daiquiris by the pool, barbecues in the evening, and laughter echoing deep into the night.

Change was in the air that summer before freshman year when everything started to shift. The Reality Bites soundtrack, Frente!, and James Taylor’s Greatest Hits played on repeat. We hung out at friends’ houses, wandered the unpaved Broadway extension, and stayed up late making out with boys and trying beer for the first time.

We rode the County Connection buses just to get out. Watched MTV and VH1, biked the Iron Horse Trail, made prank calls, and flirted through long, golden days. We were growing up, and everything felt new.

High school summers brought more freedom, more curiosity, and more risk.

My dad picked us up in his Chevy Camaro from summer health class while I blasted country CDs borrowed from my favorite crush. Clay Walker’s This Woman and This Man and If I Could Make a Living became the unofficial soundtrack of that summer.

I drove my red Geo Tracker with the top down, best friends in the passenger seat, Slurpees from 7-Eleven in hand, music blasting. We sunbathed for hours, dreaming about life, love, and everything ahead. We sang like no one was listening and hit the Taco Bell drive-thru like it was a ritual.

I remember the summer after graduation, getting picked up from a party by an older crush home from college. We drank boxed wine at the park and talked about everything and nothing. It felt like we had all the time in the world.

Time with family moved differently in summer.

Trips to Grandma’s were slow and sweet. Her mosquito zapper clicked softly in the background while the sprinklers traced long arcs across the lawn. We ran through them barefoot, shrieking, grass sticking to our feet. Drumsticks in hand, we stretched summer out as far as it would go.

Every July brought our family reunion. It was always over 100 degrees in Jackson, Pioneer, or Plymouth, CA. We saw our cousins only once a year, but we picked up right where we left off, like no time had passed. My mom’s trail mix was requested annually—sticky, salty, and sweet. It tasted like home.

College summers had their own rhythm, freer but in a different way. I worked at Dean’s Café, counting tips and time. Every June, the Alameda County Fair rolled into town and stretched past the Fourth of July. Horse races, photo booths, corn dogs, chocolate-covered bananas, and the thick smell of beer baked into the sun.

Some summers blur together—the music, the boys, the hours lost in laughter. But others stand out like snapshots: the buzz of a lawn mower, the taste of ripe fruit, the sun on bare shoulders. The memories live in the details.

Lately, I have found myself wishing for a break. To be that girl again. The one with nothing to do, nowhere to be. Just music drifting through the heat, sun on my face, and a long, lazy afternoon unfolding.

I wish I could bottle that feeling and open it every June.

But maybe she is still here. That version of me. Maybe she lives in the scent of sunscreen, in the opening notes of a certain song, in the warm light of a golden evening. Maybe summer returns not just outside but inside us too.

I long for the slow days. Iced tea. Music through open windows. Barefoot walks through sprinklers. Slurpees with my best friends. The wind in my hair. The joy. The freedom. The magic.

These are the memories I carry. The boys. The friendships. The reunions. The laughter.

The summers that shaped me.
The yesterdays I will never stop loving.

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P.S. What smells, sounds, or songs instantly bring back your summer memories? I’d love to hear your own little “yesterday.” Reply to this email or leave me a comment below.

P.P.S. If reading this brought your favorite summer memories rushing back, why not make some new ones with us? Our Summer Solstice Retreat is tomorrow, and we still have a couple of spots open. It’s the perfect way to reconnect with yourself, soak up the season, and create memories you’ll carry with you. Click here to learn more and sign up!

P.P.P.S. If this reminded you of someone who could use a little sunshine or a walk down memory lane, I’d love it if you passed it along. Sharing these moments means so much to me, and it helps keep the summer magic alive for all of us. Thank you, truly.