Seasons

Summer has lost its charm but autumn isn’t doing much for me this year.  I have a weird relationship with summer.  Let’s review: My early childhood was spent in Arizona where it is hot and I wasn’t old enough to care.  Summer meant pools and visiting grandparents.  The bulk of those memories involve skinny-dipping, very hot sidewalks, Frosted Flakes (they’re great), tricycles and dirt.  Also the tree in front of my grandparents Phoenix house with a trunk painted white.  Not a lot to go from there. 

Later childhood and adolescence was in Alaska, namely, the best state for summer fun.  Unless, of course, you don’t care for nature or mosquitoes.  I like the first enough to balance out the latter.  Anyway, through this point of my life, summer was the bomb.  Early on it was filled with lots of romping through the woods, collecting lupine and fireweed, trampolines, bike rides, mosquito bites and hair sticky with sap.  Then later summer meant campfires at the beach, driving around with friends, getting into a little trouble (often all of these were associated), sleeping in, sunny walks, hikes, camping, and lots of tourists.  When the weather was nice, my friends and I were out and about, when it was rainy, we frequented each other’s houses and coffee shops.  We usually had family vacation, which was always awesome. (except the motor home trip… that one was awesome later, but not at the time.  It was the kind of vacation where Mom and Dad made us keep a journal.)

 

Early adulthood found me living in Florida and Illinois.  Are you kidding me?  My body protested as the humidity skyrocketed, sweat dripped down my back and my hair frizzed out.  Bless my hair, it doesn’t do well in such conditions.  I don’t mind heat if I am free to stay inside or out by a pool, but remember, we’re talking early adulthood.  This time of life does not include pools and luxury.  Rather, it involved sucking it up and working, pretending to be a real grown up.  Hot, stagnant air and responsibility replaced the fun summer days of earlier years. 

 

Illinois taught me of the joy that is autumn.  In Alaska, this season sneaks up right as you get into a good summer groove, lasts about two weeks then the leaves fall off and it snows.  It’s not very exciting.  But the Midwest has a good thing going on.  The leaves change, all colors of the autumn spectrum.  From scarlet to sumbeam, the leaves do magical things.  The crunch, the smell, the pumpkin and apple related festivities… ahh, yes, fall in the Midwest is glorious. 

We moved back up to Alaska late in the winter and got to skip the worst of it.  We got to experience the excitement of the improving weather, witness the leaves pop out of tree branches and the colors burst out from the ground (it makes me think of the movie “The Secret Garden” when everything blooms in fast forward). We spent as much time outdoors this summer, wearing as little clothing as the temperature permitted, slipping into shorts and tank tops several times. On those glorious sunny days we, along with about 85% of the area’s population, went to the park.  We soaked it up!

Just as we got into the groove of the sunny season, mother nature laughed at us and threw a kink into things.  The kink being that it is September and fall has arrived in Alaska.  My enthusiasm for the season is curbed by my aversion to what comes next.  Things are yellowing and summer has come to a close.  Jackets and real shoes are rapidly replacing shorts and tank tops.  Each evening when the sun sets a little bit earlier, I’m reminded to enjoy the day because winter is long, and approaching fast. 

 

Since moving back to my hometown, I’ve rarely missed places I previously lived.  However, we left some very good friends, both in Florida and Illinois, and miss them very much.   These days of crisp air and changing scenery make me miss Illinois and those we left.  The Midwest was made for fall, so it’s only natural that many of my thoughts are of memories best associated with the season.  Illinois friends, I would love to go on a walk, a bike ride or to the park with you.  We’d have coffee and bake something with together. If you read this, know that I miss you and will likely remember and think fondly of you each time this season rolls around.  This year it feels a little bit lonely.