Eulogy for a Season

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A thought for Labor Day week:

This summer — this steamy, sultry, sweaty season of sweltering, of heat, of humidity, of slime on skin, of temperatures I fled after 22 continuous years in the Arizona desert, of idling grumpily in your Volvo on the beach road, of sweltering on the Crane sand and shivering in the Crane surf, of more square miles of exposed flesh than exposed sand, of skin cancer start-ups, this season of abandoning the previous season’s swimsuit in favor of something a size larger (or more), and wishing the other person had decided against that swimsuit they’re wearing, or trying to wear, this season of bare feet and cuts and splinters and blisters, or ugly flip-flops, this season of children climbing the apple tree risking life and limb, both theirs and the tree’s, this season of sunlight invading sleep way too early, of sunny weekdays and rainy weekends, of muck between your toes in Hood Pond, of forgetting to turn off the garden hose and flooding the side yard, this season of big fat juicy garden tomatoes savaged by midnight marauder-deer, of elbows in your ribs at the Marini Farm corn bin, and juicy peaches that my lack of a sweet tooth can’t love, this tragic season when oysters are not recommended, this season of Harleys roaring through town and rattling the glass, of bicyclists jarring me awake by yelling at one another as they tear past my bedroom window, of rained-out concerts and even one heated-out concert, this season of covering at the office for whoever’s on vacation this week, this season of frustratingly foreshortened library hours, of fleas and flies and panting poodles, of greenhead-swatting and Skin So Soft-slathering, of mosquito-smacking and middle-of-the-night scratching, of bee stings, of ant bites, of lawn-mowing and grass-raking, of tree-pruning and weed-pulling, of poison ivy-ointment-smearing, of pollen-sneezing, of squished worms and frogs and snakes on the road, this season when you open all the windows because the fresh air is so nice, only to get all your stuff soaked when the unexpected rainstorm blows through, when you long for football, and your favorite players get injured in the preseason, when the neighbor’s barbecue always smells better than your own, this season of Freon leaks and engine boil-overs and watering bans, this season that lifetime New Englanders adore and live for because they didn’t have 22 continuous years of it in Phoenix—

Yeah, I loved it too.

 

 

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