Summer has arrived in Salt Lake City.
I know some people would dispute this claim. After all, we did have snow last Monday. But as my little family spent the evening walking around our neighborhood yesterday, I caught a whiff of that old, familiar smell. The smell that sends my heart all a flutter every single year.
Nope, it's not the smell of the Great Salt Lake.
It's the smell of summer.
Fresh cut grass. Charcoal from a nearby barbecue. Flowers of all shapes and sizes. Sunscreen. Warmth.
My absolute favorite time of year. If it weren't for the hope of Salt Lake summers, Salt Lake winters would drive me far, far away. Well, they kind of do anyway, but summer does a pretty good job of making me forget how much I hate the months between November and March.
I adore our neighborhood. We are nestled in the middle of dozens of trees, at the foot of Capitol Hill. The homes around us are charming, unique and historic. We often pretend we have a million bucks to spend on one of them, and discuss the ways we would make it our own.
Hidden between the rows of old houses and trees is a little park. Nothing special, but a treasure to us. We discovered the little place while on a walk during our first Salt Lake City spring. I distinctly remember chatting about how fun it would be to bring a child there one day.
"One day" arrived last night. And it did not disappoint.
We headed over to the neighborhood elementary school and came across a map of the counties of Utah. Lola chilled in her birthplace for a bit before realizing how much she hates sitting on the dirty cement.
We hoped she would forget about the above-mentioned hatred when we tried to snap a 10-month shot on the hopscotch "10." Turns out, she hadn't forgotten.
My favorite shot of the day came when daddy tried to take her down a slide that was too big for her, but much too small for him. I nearly dropped the camera I was laughing so hard.
Oh summer, please stick around for awhile.