The one item that makes it into our picnic basket every time

I find that idea helpful right now, seeking joy. Sometimes you find it in places that were always there — you just weren’t paying attention.

Some people are guided by aesthetics, crafting the perfect image and caption. Those people are not me. I’m guided by feeling. I’m a Cancer, after all. It comes with the territory.

So try to let feeling guide your summer bucket list; the kind that is a quiet reminder of all the things we should be doing while the days are longer and less scheduled.

I romanticize all 93 days of summer, and why? It changes very little for a person with four kids and a couple jobs. Perhaps it’s bits of nostalgia floating in the warm air, reminding me of afternoons filled with drippy popsicles and skinned knees covered by cartooned band-aids.

Whatever the reason, I manufacture glimpses of those roller-blade filled summers. They periodically pop up in my mostly mundane schedule that is otherwise filled with overflowing laundry baskets and screen-time negotiations.

But I do know this, if we’re not seeking joy, we will find the opposite.

A summer bucket list helps.

I traipse through grass barefoot, allowing the blades to tangle between my toes.

I walk through the streets long after the sun has gone down, while the midday heat rests but the air is still warm.

I read books in the breeze and momentarily forget about time all together.

I drink coffee on my back stoop as a cat stretches and rolls in the sun near my feet.

I grill food on skewers and serve dinner past our bedtime.

I drink Aperol Spritzes in my bathing suit as my freckles multiply.

I order soft-serve, a small vanilla cup, whenever I get the chance.

I lay on my back and watch the clouds and when night comes, I stare at the stars.

I spend Saturday mornings wandering up to the Farmers’ Market, coffee in hand, gathering up as many tomatoes as my market bag will hold.

I put those tomatoes on a platter with a fresh baguette and a ball of burrata, some puddles of olive oil and call it dinner.

I put my phone away and watch intently as the kids spit watermelon seeds and sell lemonade, just like I used to.

I sit on the front porch as storms roll in, wrapping up in a blanket when the temperature drops.

After the novelty wanes, we head inside to start a Harry Potter marathon.

I buy big boxes of peaches and slowly prep them for their fates; either pie, crumble, or jam.

I put on my Leon Bridges playlist and dance in my kitchen.

Occasionally, you might even catch me chasing lightning bugs.

And, of course, I picnic.

And I don’t mean a couple slices of turkey tucked between two pieces of floppy wheat bread, the kind that leave indentations where your fingers held it.

I excel at picnics.

I package up different salad combinations, some grain-based, some leafy — all with dressing packaged separately to prevent sogginess. I’ll sneak in some torn baguette and a piece of gorgonzola or sharp white cheddar, wrapped in parchment paper. If we’re out of cheese, salted butter is a perfect stand-in.

Depending on the month there will be a bag of freshly rinsed cherries or cold, sliced melon, maybe a couple nectarines. A small bin of cherry tomatoes and sliced cucumbers usually round out the meal.

Nestled in between the containers are a mix of Kombucha and La Croix, or even root beer if I’m feeling like a fun mom.

We have a picnic blanket, an old Pottery Barn thing that has been upcycled since it served as my Freshman year bedspread. Whoever I’m with unpacks the bags, quietly squealing as they unwrap treat after treat. After the meal, we walk or toss the frisbee and I start contemplating what I’ll pack for the next one.

This lentil salad makes the cooler nearly every time. It’s so easy to create a big batch and pack up into containers for the week. I’m never not delighted when I spoon out the soft lentils coated in tangy dressing, all punctuated by crunchy, diced vegetables.

It’s perfect for picnics because it’s equally perfect cold or room temperature and I’m forever in support of a salad that gets better with time.

They’re certainly not wrong when they say the days are long but the years are short. Make a summer bucket list, feel free to use some of my ideas, and make your days longer by doing the things that make you happy to be alive. Seek joy.

Oh, and obviously make this salad.

“But First, Food” columnist Whitney Kling is a recipe developer who lives in Southwest Ohio with her four kids, two cats and a food memoir that’s ever-nearing completion. If she’s not playing tennis or at a yoga class, she’s in the kitchen creating something totally addictive — and usually writing about it.

FRENCH LENTIL SALAD

Lentils are a nutritious pantry staple that are endlessly adaptable. Here, we mix them with a simple mustard vinaigrette for the most delightful salad served warm or cold.

Prep Time: 10 minutes

Cook Time: 20 minutes

Serves 4-6

What You’ll Need:

1 cup dry lentils, rinsed thoroughly

2 carrots, peeled and finely diced

¼ red onion, peeled and finely diced

2 stalks celery, finely diced

¼ cup parsley, chopped

Vinaigrette:

2 T red wine vinegar

¼ cup olive oil

1 T Dijon mustard

1 t Kosher salt

½ t pepper

Steps:

Notes: Lentils take on a sandy texture when overcooked so keep a close eye on them. We like to add a handful of shredded kale or fresh parsley to the finished product.