What Happened to Summer?

There has always been a certain elasticity to the seasons.  I know – the calendar divides them evenly, but even as kids, we’d know that summer seemed like a few days and winter dragged on forever.  But still, I have to ask myself, what happened to summer?

That last day of school when we were young was sheer joy.  The summer stretched out endlessly before us.  Months of bike-riding, exploration, playing games until dinner.  As we got older, there would be summer reading lists, as school tried to impose its authority over our well-earned time off.  And we had to get summer jobs too, because college was looming and we’d need money.  But all in all, summer was a glorious time of freedom, warmth, and a sense of random abandon.  Shorts and t-shirts.  Of course, now young people wear shorts year round, but still . . . .

I can’t believe that July is almost gone.  Just a few days ago, it seems, I was writing and publishing my “Thoughts on July 4^th”, and now it’s July 20^th.  What happened?  The flowers in my gardens, that bloom in “early to mid-summer” are closing up for the season.  A local teacher, an acquaintance of my wife’s, referred to her Rose of Sharon in the front yard as the “oh, #@$ plant”, because its blooms in August were reminders that she needed to get her classroom ready and school would be starting. That is a big psychological thing for teachers as much as for students. Another friend, also a teacher, used to joke about summer, saying “it was all down-hill after Father’s Day.”   That seemed hilarious until July went by in the blink of an eye, and August was spent preparing for the new school year. Of course, climate change has shifted growing and blossoming seasons rather dramatically.  Twenty years ago, we took a trip in England and Scotland in late July.  It was warmish and sunny, but not what you’d call “summer”.  The English would joke about their two seasons – winter and August. This year, they are experiencing record heat every day and literally wilting.  Spain, Portugal, and Southern France used to be paradise locations.  Now they’re experiencing massive forest fires.  

Going back to school or work was exciting, of course, but the summer lack of schedule, the enjoyment of unstructured time, was gone.  For a couple of weeks now, the car commercials are slowing down the ads of people jumping off docks into lakes and others lounging on the beach, urging us on to “last chance” opportunities.  The stores are showing back-to-school clothes and school supplies.  Who will forget that wonderful ad featuring Dad’s look of joy in the supply store and the slogan, “They’re going back!”  Right behind him were two children looking positively shell-shocked. In the marketing world, of course, the seasons are a blur.  Snow shovels and Christmas decorations will start appearing in August and September, replacing patio furniture, umbrellas, and gas grills. Snow blowers are out in October, so we’re ready for that first snow storm, which we hope won’t happen for a few months. “White Christmas” is soon enough.

My gardening follows a cycle.  May and June set up the season.  Beds cleaned, dead stuff from the winter cleared away, containers planted, and new items of interest put in.  My gardening guru is Monty Don, host of Gardener’s World.  He’d recommend and I’d plant.  Of course, my gardens are only pale shadows of what he has in Longmeadow, in the UK.  By mid-June, everything looks quite nice.  For beds in more remote areas, I take pictures so Her Ladyship can see them too.  I fully expect, of course, that everything will remain pristine and beautiful until Columbus Day, but I know that won’t happen.  In late June and into July, some bits get a bit tired, so I prune them back and we start again.  I insert new plants too, to keep myself interested and give me something to do.  That keeps me going until August, when it all looks exhausted except for the late summer blooming things.  Even the mulch is dull and listless.  I make a list of some plants that I’ll put in during the fall months – new shrubs and some bulbs for spring.  I’m always looking ahead, even if my plants don’t.  By spring, the bulbs will have been eaten by my furry little friends, and many of the shrubs and bushes will be saying to me, “This winter was just too much.  Good luck with the other stuff.”  Meanwhile, July is a time to enjoy.   I sip my morning coffee on the back porch, reading my newspaper and looking out.  Today, for example, I’m repotting some of the smaller containers that aren’t doing much.  But it’s a small task, and I know I’ll enjoy the results.  Now, if they’ll just last until the first frost.

I thought, obviously not accurately, that holidays were meant to be rather nicely spread out during the year.  Holidays were breaks in the routine.  Special events to celebrate each of the seasons. Like the fine pacing between Christmas and Easter, with Valentine’s Day to add splashes of red to an otherwise dreary winter.  Summer is really fun all by itself, so we’ll celebrate July 4^th to kick things off.  Labor Day is that boot in the rear that reminds us that it’s time to get serious again.  I mean it people, no more splashing in the pool, back off those trips to the beach, every one back to work – the party’s over.  That’s why there are no official Labor Day colors.  Just throw the last of the hot dogs on the grill and call it a weekend. Ever notice that the biggies have a color scheme?  Christmas is red and green, although some people keep trying to inject blue and silver into the holidays.  Thanksgiving is home to earth tones – browns, oranges, and muted yellows.  Easter is all bubbly with pinks and pastels.  Nope, Labor Day definitely loses out in the color department.  If it were the face of God, Labor Day would be like a judge, looking all stern and official. As a holiday, it’s too late for green grass, too early for fall foliage.  Lately, the pumpkin spice coffee begins to appear, so maybe that will help ease the transition.  

Perhaps, it’s just that as we get older, the seasons fly by at a pace that is scary.  The cataracts in the eyes need to be addressed.  The teeth are starting to crumble and need to be capped.  A trip to the doctor isn’t just routine any more.  They’re like taking an old car in for inspection.  When the car was new, the service manager would breeze by and say, “All set.”  Now he or she comes in and sits down beside you with a sheaf of papers.  That can never be good news.  

There isn’t really an alternative to passing of summer.  Becoming a “snow bird” isn’t an option, because that pleasant “summer” climate is steadily moving north, and the south is becoming more and more unbearably hot and stormy. The national weather reports seem to include far more frequently phrases like, “We’re tracking tornados, with alerts in . . . . . . “  “Hurricane Griselda is forming in the Atlantic . . . .”  And “In the Southwest, five states are engulfed in massive forest fires that have claimed thousands of acres, and in the South and Midwest, soaring temperatures . . . .”  No, thank you.  I think we’ll stay in New England.  I’ll watch my mid-summer day lilies bloom and wait for the Rose of Sharon.  I’ll tell the summer to please slow down, although I know it won’t. And there is still a fair bit of July left to savor and enjoy.