I used to think summer was my favorite season, all nostalgia and golden light. But this year, no matter how many swims or sundaes I tried to stack against it, I couldn’t shake the hum of anxiety and overwhelm. The farm was abundant—peas, squash, raspberries, pickled peppers—but under the surface I was wrestling with the same old tug between ambition and ease. August reminded me that the garden isn’t just about harvests. It’s also about learning to take up space, to let things fail, and to notice beauty that can’t be captured in pictures.