The calendar says August, the month of 'dog days" and sweltering heat, but the breeze from the north is cool and refreshing. I sit in the glider on the deck with a book in my hand, reading while the wind chimes play their tune and hummingbirds flit about, performing aerobatics with incredible speed and precision.
To what do we owe this respite from summer? Autumn is still more than a month away. One branch of the dogwood thinks it's autumn already; its leaves have bronzed and stand out against the green forest curtain — willow oaks, a chestnut oak, a Bradford pear, pines and sweet gums — as the yard slopes away from where I sit. A few leaves have given up the fight for life and have fluttered to the ground to lie in the grass awaiting the rake I have not yet unsheathed. The pines know it's nearly time for fall; they are as far ahead as the stores' displays of Halloween and Thanksgiving wares. Pine needles litter the lawn and the driveway. I will collect them, heap them into a pile and use them for mulch in the plant beds.
But raking can wait. Let me savor this afternoon of low humidity, blue skies intersected by high, filmy clouds, and that breeze from the north that blows away all my worries for just a little while.
Showing posts with label summer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label summer. Show all posts
Thursday, August 10, 2017
Tuesday, February 23, 2016
Spring is not far away
Faintly, as I sit inside in the morning's first light, I hear birds singing cheerfully outside. I am reminded that the vernal equinox is just 27 days away. Spring arrives six days before Easter this year. The birds are offering an overture before the symphony begins
The winter thus far has delivered some days so cold our bones felt brittle and some biting winds that turned mild days frigid. Some snow and ice came, but not so much this year as to challenge comparisons in our memory.
Late February is not assurance that winter is over. Snowstorms have buried us in Marches past and can do it again. But crocuses and daffodils are bravely poking their colorful heads into the chilly air, promising warmer days ahead. In this somber season of Lent, there is the promise of spring and Easter.
The sun will cross the celestial equator, and warmth will bathe our portion of Earth's sphere once again. The warmth we have pursued these past few months will blanket us and sap our energy, and we will long for a cooling breeze and the thrill of autumn colors.
The winter thus far has delivered some days so cold our bones felt brittle and some biting winds that turned mild days frigid. Some snow and ice came, but not so much this year as to challenge comparisons in our memory.
Late February is not assurance that winter is over. Snowstorms have buried us in Marches past and can do it again. But crocuses and daffodils are bravely poking their colorful heads into the chilly air, promising warmer days ahead. In this somber season of Lent, there is the promise of spring and Easter.
The sun will cross the celestial equator, and warmth will bathe our portion of Earth's sphere once again. The warmth we have pursued these past few months will blanket us and sap our energy, and we will long for a cooling breeze and the thrill of autumn colors.
Monday, June 15, 2015
The heat is upon us
The summer heat has arrived. After some pleasant mornings and bearable afternoons, the heat is upon us, and it's not pleasant.
Last Thursday, a friend and I set out in the late afternoon to erect a sign at a local intersection. The temperature hovered around 90 degrees, the hottest day of the year to that date. The sign, which was much heavier than we expected, had to be manhandled into position, and then we had to dig the post holes. By the time we finished, we were both drenched in sweat and longing for a refreshing, cold drink.
It was after 5 p.m. when we finished, so I went straight to the gym, despite feeling worn out from the exertion expended raising the sign. I planned to cut the workout short, but even that proved challenging. I was dragging from the moment I stepped onto the elliptical trainer and left the gym even earlier than I had planned.
The weekend was hotter still. I mowed grass early Saturday morning, but by mid-day the heat had risen to about 90 degrees. Sunday was even hotter. The heat was unremitting, searing against your skin as soon as you stepped out of the shade. Just standing in the heat prompted a flow of perspiration that soaked your hair and your clothes and dripped onto eyeglasses, making the heat not just uncomfortable but annoying as well.
This heat is forecast to last the rest of the week. We will dodge the worst of the heat if we can by hiding out inside air-conditioned buildings and moving quickly into air-conditioned cars to travel to another air-conditioned building. Utility bills will soar, and AC units will break down from the demand.
We've grown so accustomed to air conditioning that we can no longer tolerate heat, even the relatively mild summer temperatures in the 80s. Once, I lived through entire summers without ever entering air conditioned spaces. Windows stood open to catch any breeze, and electric fans stirred the hot, damp air, and hot nights left us in bedclothes damp from our perspiration, but we managed to tolerate the discomfort. We've lost that tolerance and cannot get it back.
Last Thursday, a friend and I set out in the late afternoon to erect a sign at a local intersection. The temperature hovered around 90 degrees, the hottest day of the year to that date. The sign, which was much heavier than we expected, had to be manhandled into position, and then we had to dig the post holes. By the time we finished, we were both drenched in sweat and longing for a refreshing, cold drink.
It was after 5 p.m. when we finished, so I went straight to the gym, despite feeling worn out from the exertion expended raising the sign. I planned to cut the workout short, but even that proved challenging. I was dragging from the moment I stepped onto the elliptical trainer and left the gym even earlier than I had planned.
The weekend was hotter still. I mowed grass early Saturday morning, but by mid-day the heat had risen to about 90 degrees. Sunday was even hotter. The heat was unremitting, searing against your skin as soon as you stepped out of the shade. Just standing in the heat prompted a flow of perspiration that soaked your hair and your clothes and dripped onto eyeglasses, making the heat not just uncomfortable but annoying as well.
This heat is forecast to last the rest of the week. We will dodge the worst of the heat if we can by hiding out inside air-conditioned buildings and moving quickly into air-conditioned cars to travel to another air-conditioned building. Utility bills will soar, and AC units will break down from the demand.
We've grown so accustomed to air conditioning that we can no longer tolerate heat, even the relatively mild summer temperatures in the 80s. Once, I lived through entire summers without ever entering air conditioned spaces. Windows stood open to catch any breeze, and electric fans stirred the hot, damp air, and hot nights left us in bedclothes damp from our perspiration, but we managed to tolerate the discomfort. We've lost that tolerance and cannot get it back.
Thursday, June 11, 2015
School's out for the summer, but it's not the same
The school year is ending, or so they tell me. It's amazing how disconnected parents can become when their youngest child leaves public schools. Immediately, the school calendar, which had governed family activities for years if not decades, becomes irrelevant. For me, that moment came 20 years ago, when my youngest of three children moved on.
The culture of summer vacation today would be unrecognizable to the children of my (admittedly now aged) generation. We celebrated being free of school's routine and sang, "No more school, no more books, no more teachers' dirty looks" as we leaped from the school bus. We had nearly three months free, completely. There were no summer enrichment programs, no summer camps, no museums, no arts classes, no day care and few, if any, trips to occupy the summer.
My siblings and I were free to wander through the fields and woods exploring all that nature and man's intervention had left. We fished in the little creek, chased tadpoles and caught turtles or terrapins, and we avoided snakes. We slept late. We played backyard baseball and occasionally arranged baseball games at the empty school field, if we could get there. We rode bicycles and explored the barn loft. We did chores, feeding the dog that mainly fended for himself and made sure the milk cow had food and water. We got out of bed long after our parents had left for work and entertained ourselves with games of all kinds. We wandered for miles across fields and hills and streams, climbed trees and built contraptions for our pretending. We were unsupervised for most of the day.
Our house was not air conditioned, but the school buildings were not either. We rarely entered buildings that were cooled in summer. The church had large windows that were opened on muggy Sunday mornings as everyone prayed for a breeze. The drug store a block from the church had a ceiling fan but no air conditioning. We learned to tolerate the heat and knew the value of a good shade tree.
Today's parents would never allow such a hazardous level of freedom, and social workers would be appalled at our freedom from supervision and lack of educational opportunities. They would be shocked at my clear memory of a sunny afternoon of the last day of school nearly 60 years ago. I had gotten off the school bus and strolled into the back yard and lay down on a lush expanse of unmowed grass. I lay there and felt the hot sun on my face, the cool grass against my back and the sunny warmth against my body and thought how wonderful it is to be a kid in summer.
The culture of summer vacation today would be unrecognizable to the children of my (admittedly now aged) generation. We celebrated being free of school's routine and sang, "No more school, no more books, no more teachers' dirty looks" as we leaped from the school bus. We had nearly three months free, completely. There were no summer enrichment programs, no summer camps, no museums, no arts classes, no day care and few, if any, trips to occupy the summer.
My siblings and I were free to wander through the fields and woods exploring all that nature and man's intervention had left. We fished in the little creek, chased tadpoles and caught turtles or terrapins, and we avoided snakes. We slept late. We played backyard baseball and occasionally arranged baseball games at the empty school field, if we could get there. We rode bicycles and explored the barn loft. We did chores, feeding the dog that mainly fended for himself and made sure the milk cow had food and water. We got out of bed long after our parents had left for work and entertained ourselves with games of all kinds. We wandered for miles across fields and hills and streams, climbed trees and built contraptions for our pretending. We were unsupervised for most of the day.
Our house was not air conditioned, but the school buildings were not either. We rarely entered buildings that were cooled in summer. The church had large windows that were opened on muggy Sunday mornings as everyone prayed for a breeze. The drug store a block from the church had a ceiling fan but no air conditioning. We learned to tolerate the heat and knew the value of a good shade tree.
Today's parents would never allow such a hazardous level of freedom, and social workers would be appalled at our freedom from supervision and lack of educational opportunities. They would be shocked at my clear memory of a sunny afternoon of the last day of school nearly 60 years ago. I had gotten off the school bus and strolled into the back yard and lay down on a lush expanse of unmowed grass. I lay there and felt the hot sun on my face, the cool grass against my back and the sunny warmth against my body and thought how wonderful it is to be a kid in summer.
Monday, April 5, 2010
April turns up the heat
Yes, I was tired of winter and eager for spring, but I never asked for 90-degree weather in April! That's what the forecasters are predicting for Tuesday in eastern North Carolina. The sudden heat wave (I don't think I've ever turned on the air conditioning in April) is compounded by that fine powdering of yellow tree pollen that has turned everything around me into a caution light.
The birds are singing, the flowers are blooming, and the grass is growing. Surely, summer has set in for a long visit. But I suspect we'll see a cold snap or two before June arrives. A frigid bluster greeted a family beach trip last May, forcing us all to bundle up in sweatshirts and heavy coats. By the end of the week, though, I was riding waves, and the sun was warm enough for extended tanning. If the weather were the same every day, weather forecasters wouldn't have much to do (see Steve Martin's hilarious "L.A. Story"). So we check the forecasts and hope for a weekend with weather much like yesterday, when someone drove past my house in a classic MG TC roadster. I wouldn't argue for a few degrees warmer, but I'd love to see that MG again.
The birds are singing, the flowers are blooming, and the grass is growing. Surely, summer has set in for a long visit. But I suspect we'll see a cold snap or two before June arrives. A frigid bluster greeted a family beach trip last May, forcing us all to bundle up in sweatshirts and heavy coats. By the end of the week, though, I was riding waves, and the sun was warm enough for extended tanning. If the weather were the same every day, weather forecasters wouldn't have much to do (see Steve Martin's hilarious "L.A. Story"). So we check the forecasts and hope for a weekend with weather much like yesterday, when someone drove past my house in a classic MG TC roadster. I wouldn't argue for a few degrees warmer, but I'd love to see that MG again.
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