Fresh Air

I'm spending the day in my husband's garden among the hydrangeas and veronica, the rose bushes and rudbeckia (just a fancy word for black-eyed Susans). It's a classic English cottage garden, so I should be dreaming of a Downton Abbey-esque cream tea with scones and jam, savory finger sandwiches, and cake. But we're within sniffing distance of the Atlantic, so I'm dreaming of steamer clams, lobster salad, and seared tuna. My dreams will come true as Chuck and his brother, who owns this bucolic piece of property in Rumson, NJ, have gone off to the Lusty Lobster for the seafood and a local farmer's market for fresh corn. So far, Gracie has had more exercise today than I, her little legs churning furiously as she swam in the Navesink under Chuck's watchful eye. If I'm lucky, I'll go to the beach for my first swim of the summer and try to burn enough calories to get ahead of the infusion of local, seasonal fare that's for dinner tonight.