I had to laugh a bit when I saw Brenda’s post the other day, the photo essay about summer, because I’d been toying with a similar idea for some photos I’ve taken in the past two weeks. Only my photos are about summer* in Omaha.

It’s funny how you can have such vivid memories that you didn’t even know you had. My parents live in the same house they’ve lived in since I was 3 years old, which means this is the place I spent nearly every summer of my childhood.

Being here with Annalie in summertime, watching her form childhood memories in the place where I spent my own childhood, makes for a weird convergence of past and present. Annalie runs around the same yard where I played kickball with my brother and our friends (the bases, which we ran clockwise for unknown reasons, were always the same: corner of the L-shaped sidewalk near the house, cracked square of sidewalk by the street, crabapple tree). Annalie draws with sidewalk chalk on the same pavement where we had our horse tank and later a basketball hoop. The front porch Annalie jumps from onto the grass over and over again is the same porch I sat on to eat popsicles and read books.

When we pull into the driveway after going out to dinner, there are fireflies hovering above the lawn and flashing at us from under the bushes, just like there were when my brother and I were kids. Annalie loves to chase the fireflies around the yard till we tell her it’s time to come in and have a bath. We haven’t yet shown Annalie how to gently catch a firefly in her cupped hands, or how to make a firefly-powered nightlight with a jelly jar. I think next summer she’ll be old enough for that, and will understand why we have to let the fireflies out of the jar before going in for the night.

Years ago after Troy and I had married and moved away, I discovered that summer rain in Omaha smells different than rain elsewhere. I didn’t realize this till I was back home visiting once and it rained, and the smell of the warm rainy city was so immediately familiar, it surprised and delighted me. Now that I’ve moved around and lived in a few more places, I realize that’s true everywhere you go: each place has its own unique smell, wet or dry. But the smell of summer rain in Omaha makes me think of sitting in my parents’ breezeway listening to music while Kara and I huddle in sleeping bags, or playing under the weeping willow tree with Jenny in her yard, or dashing across the cobblestones in the Old Market to reach the shelter of the stores across the street. A thousand memories are attached to that Omaha-rain smell, and it’s always fun to see which ones will pop into my mind when I’m here and it rains.

Summer in Omaha—at least in my parents’ corner of it—means so many shades of green on the tall, old trees crowding out the sky; lawns that are emerald green and need to be mowed every five minutes, they’re growing so much; toadstools popping up everywhere because of all the rain.

It seems like we usually end up coming to visit family in wintertime, either for the holidays or someone’s wedding. I’m glad we got to come in June this year, during fireflies-and-thunderstorms season, that Annalie will get to share some of these memories with me.

*Yes, I realize it’s technically not summer yet. But it was 94F here today with 89% humidity, okay? IT’S SUMMER.

The other day when we went to Leslie & Ed’s for dinner, Leslie had cupcakes all baked and cooled and ready for Annalie to decorate.

I helped with the frosting, but Annalie was the Official Sprinkler. Leslie was ready with an assortment of fun stuff: pastel sprinkles, blue sugar, and Sixlets.

Does Aunt Leslie know the way to Annalie’s heart, or what?

Leslie’s husband Ed is a farmer. They live out in the country and drive tractors and grow feed corn and fix their irrigation systems when they break. They’re 21st-century farmers, mind you; they have DVD players in their tractors. They also recently built a new house on the site of the old house that Ed grew up in. I’m not sure, but I think that house had been there for 70 years or more. They invited the local fire department over to do training exercises on it, and then burned it to the ground. I bet that was exciting.

Now they have a really nice new house with a big garage and basement and a guest suite, and the only fires happen in the fireplace. (And sometimes the grill when Ed isn’t paying close enough attention to the meat he’s cooking. Not that anything like that happened the other night when we were there. Twice.) Did I remember to take any pictures of the nice new house? No. No, I did not.

Doh! Silly me.

I did take pictures of Annalie climbing a rock pile in the backyard though. Queen of the mountain!

Then back down to look for cool rocks. It’s true that most kids like rocks (I know I did), but ever since we visited Erin and her extensive rock collection last fall, Annalie has been especially fascinated. She keeps finding cool rocks and saying, “I bet Auntie Erin would like THIS one!”

Then she asks me what kind of rocks she’s found, and most of the time I say something like, “Um, I don’t know. We’ll have to ask Erin next time we see her.” But at Leslie & Ed’s, Annalie found some rocks that I could actually identify. I think. I’m pretty sure. Maybe?

Erin, does that look like flecks of Pyrite to you? It sure looks like fool’s gold to me, but I could be way off. I’m no igneous petrologist, after all.

The rocks kept Annalie occupied till dinner, which was delicious. The corn was homegrown and the roast beef survived the flames very nicely. Troy and Leslie only got into one small fight over the horseradish. The conversation was lively.

Eventually Annalie got so crazy-tired that she was literally climbing up Ed’s legs as she giggled hysterically, in between throwing her teddy bear up in the air and jumping all over the couch. So we had to say our good-byes and head back to Omaha. Annalie conked out in the car about five minutes after we left.