Last weekend, we took a quick trip to Hawaii to cheer our grandson on at his cross-country meet.

While I was there, I stumbled across something that brought two very old memories rushing back.

The first took me all the way back to high school, when I had the privilege of spending a month in Japan as an exchange student.

It was there that I discovered shaved ice.

On a couple of special days, it arrived surrounded by beautifully cut fresh fruit—a wonderful jumble of flavors, textures and colors that was practically a meal in itself. I can still remember how special it felt.

The second memory came from a trip to Australia years later.

We were staying with a family through SERVAS, an international organization created to promote peace by connecting travelers with local hosts. One evening, our host made homemade ice cream with fresh passion fruit.

I was smitten.

When I returned home, I searched international markets hoping to find passion fruit. The closest I could get was a bottle of passion fruit syrup.

It wasn't even close.

So imagine my delight in Hawaii when I stumbled across a little shaved ice stand that made its own syrups from fresh fruit. And there it was.

Passion fruit.

Their "syrup" was barely syrup at all—more like fresh passion fruit stirred with a little sweetness.

I ordered it.

And then I went back the next day and ordered it again.

And the next.

On that final day, I knew it would probably be a long time before I tasted anything quite like it again. So I sat down on a nearby bench with my little cup of shaved ice and did absolutely nothing else.

I savored it, one spoonful at a time.

I wasn't thinking about where we were going next. I wasn't distracted by something on my phone. I wasn't trying to do two things at once.

I simply paid attention.

I've thought about that shaved ice several times since I returned. I suppose I enjoyed that last cup even more because I knew I wouldn't be able to have it again anytime soon.

I wonder how many other "lasts" pass by without us realizing they're lasts at all.

Why the End of Summer Is a Perfect Time to Practice Savoring

Summer is slipping away.

And to be honest, with the heat here, I've been anxious for fall to arrive.

I love the crisp mornings, changing leaves, cozy clothes, pumpkin and cinnamon. At the same time, I don't want to rush toward what's next so quickly that I miss what's still here.

Because summer doesn't disappear all at once. It leaves us little by little.

The days grow shorter. The evenings get cooler.

Peaches have already been replaced by apples at our farmers market. Only one stand had fresh corn this weekend, and there were more greens in my CSA box this week.

Our last dinner outside will come and go.

Soon I won't want to walk barefoot through the grass.

Most of the time, we don't know those moments are the last ones when they're happening.

But what if we paid more attention to them? Would they feel different?

What if, instead of simply allowing one season to blur into another, we deliberately noticed what is leaving instead of only being excited for what is coming?

Maybe part of savoring a season is allowing ourselves to notice its ending.

Paying attention like this is one of the simplest ways I know to make life feel richer.

What Will You Miss About Summer When It's Gone?

That's the question I've been asking myself:

What will I miss about summer when it's gone?

For me, the first thing that comes to mind is food. I love to create in the kitchen, and I love all the different flavors, textures and variety we're blessed with these days.

I baked a fresh peach pie this weekend, and we're having watermelon with supper tonight.

But there are dozens of little things I'll miss that have nothing to do with food.

I'm already noticing that there are fewer flowers blooming in my gardens.

I know I'll miss the long evenings when there's still enough light after dinner to go for a walk.

And it's nice not to wonder if I need a jacket each time I step outside right now.

Soon I'll be missing open windows.

Bare feet.

Morning coffee outdoors without needing a coat.

All of these are simple things.

And perhaps that's exactly why they're so easy to overlook.

Savor the Seasonal Foods You'll Soon Miss

There's something wonderful about eating something when it actually belongs to the season you're living in.

Peach juice dripping down your hand.

Refreshing watermelon on a hot day.

The sweetness of fresh corn on the cob.

Tomatoes that actually taste like tomatoes.

Basil picked moments before it goes into dinner.

Don't get me wrong, I've started eating apples again, and I just might cook a pumpkin this week. But at the same time, I'm giving summer foods one last celebration, and I invite you to do the same.

When you visit the farmers market, notice what's still abundant—and what's beginning to disappear.

Go get an ice cream cone when the temperature spikes.

When you bite into that corn on the cob, think about how long it will be before you can do it again.

Consider how different that tomato will taste in a couple of months.

It seems to me that part of the pleasure comes from knowing their season is brief.

Spend More Time Outside Before the Season Changes

Soon enough, being outside will require another layer of clothing, and before you know it, there will be days when staying indoors may be more appealing.

So perhaps this is the time to linger outside a little longer.

Eat dinner on the patio.

Take your coffee outdoors in the morning.

Go for an evening walk while there's still plenty of light.

Sit outside and watch the sun set in the background.

Walk barefoot to the mailbox.

Open the windows and listen to what's happening outside.

Let the ordinary nature of these moments be special.

Worth noticing.

Worth appreciating.

Notice the Sights, Sounds and Feel of Late Summer

Savoring doesn't necessarily require doing more.

It simply requires noticing more.

What does late summer sound like where you live?

What is blooming?

How does the evening light fall differently than it did a month ago?

What do you smell when you walk outside in the morning?

Maybe there are crickets at night, cicadas in the trees, flowers still blooming along your walking route or a particular slant of golden evening light that will look entirely different a month from now.

Cut a few flowers and bring them inside.

Watch the sunset.

Sit outside long enough to hear the sounds around you.

Look closely at what's here before it changes.

Savoring the Seasons Helps Us Be More Present

I've written often about living more intentionally with the seasons, and perhaps this is one of the reasons I'm drawn to it.

The seasons remind us that nothing stays exactly as it is.

We know summer will eventually become autumn. Autumn will become winter. And eventually we'll find ourselves eagerly watching for the first signs of spring again.

There is comfort in that rhythm and a lesson as well.

Things change.

Experiences end.

People grow.

Life moves forward whether or not we're paying attention.

And sometimes recognizing that something won't last makes it easier to appreciate while it's still here.

The "Last Times" We Rarely Know Are Last Times

Of course, this isn't really just about summer.

We experience "lasts" throughout our lives without realizing they're happening.

The last time a child or grandchild asks to be picked up.

The last meal around a particular table.

The last visit to a place we've loved.

The last walk along a familiar path.

The last ordinary afternoon spent with a friend.

We usually don't get a little sign announcing:

Pay attention. You're going to miss this someday.

I don't think the answer is to move through life worrying that every lovely experience might be the last.

Worry pulls us into the future.

Savoring brings us back to what's here now.

The invitation is simple.

Notice more.

Rush a little less.

Give your attention to the ordinary things that make your life sweet.

A Simple Question to Help You Savor Life More

As summer comes to an end, I'm carrying one question with me:

What is here right now that I will miss when it's gone?

How to Savor the Last Days of Summer

Maybe it's warm evenings on the porch.

Maybe it's the flowers in your backyard, your grandchildren's excitement to see you, a favorite trail or simply the warmth of the sun on bare shoulders.

Whatever comes to mind, go enjoy it while it's still here.

Because sometimes savoring life is as simple as realizing:

I won't always have this.

And then sitting on the bench long enough to taste every spoonful.