Indiana Summers

The thick summer air, the constant hum of crickets, and a recent visit with family brought back memories of Indiana summers—those early years when sweat and work were just part of the season.

Back in late grade school through junior high, I spent my summers detasseling corn. I’d walk through endless rows of towering stalks, dressed in long sleeves to guard against the sharp leaves that still managed to cut up my arms. The heat was relentless, but I kept moving. I didn’t complain—I just did the work. At the end of one season, my boss handed me a $100 bonus. It was the first bonus he’d ever given anyone. He said it was because of my quiet focus and steady work. That moment stuck with me.

In the summers that followed—stretching from late junior high into my college years—I worked for the Bradburys, our neighbors. (Hi Sandy and Ray!) I was their very first employee, hired to clean swimming pools. I couldn’t even drive yet, but they’d drop me off with all the supplies, and I’d go to work scrubbing and skimming. Eventually, they moved into constructing pools, and I moved right along with them—spending long days digging clay soil and getting covered in concrete dust. No shade, just sweat and determination under the Indiana sun.

One of those later summers, my soon-to-be brother-in-law came to work with us. He was a student at Indiana University at the time, and his kind nature and strong work ethic showed right away. At some point, I suggested he ask my sister out on a date. He did. And now, forty years later, they’ve built an incredible life and a beautiful family together—one I had the pleasure of photographing just last week.

Looking back, those summers weren’t just about the hard work. They were seasons of quiet growth—of showing up, pushing through, and learning who I was without needing to say much. Somewhere in all that heat and dust, connection took root. A friendship became family. A job became a lesson. And the long, sweaty days that once felt like a grind… became something I look back on with gratitude.

And today, as I feel that dense humidity, instead of feeling weighed down by it, I remember how it can also wrap around me and hold me. It says,”I am here. I got you. Let me carry you for now. I’ve carried you before.”