“She smelled of sun and daisies with a hint of river water.”
— Katie Daisy
There is a black and white snapshot, taken decades ago, of a little girl with wild curls sitting on a large rock in the center of a slow moving river. It’s obviously summer because the little girl is wearing a retro bathing suit and she seems to be squinting into the glare of the sun. This photo has always encapsulated summer to me. In fact we can trace generations to this water.
The river bed seems to change over the years but the rock remains: 1930s, little girl on the rock (my grandmother); 1950s, little girl on the rock (my mother) and finally, 1970s, little girl on the rock (me).
I come from a long line of people who enjoy the water. I also loved the respite of the aforementioned river dips. I’m assuming it came straight out of a well-hidden Midwestern glacier. How else to explain how shallow water could turn your lips blue in the dog days of August?
Our own children grew up on a steady diet of lake water. Summer is marked by the endless soggy towels draped over railings and a trail of life jackets and ski rope. This early exposure to fresh water probably formed my deep love of lakes and rivers as being far superior to oceans. Yes, I said it and I mean it. I have never once been worried about a shark attack in a lake, river or creek.
Each of us, of course, experiences summer in many of the same ways and also in unique and different ways. My summer memories are formed around the years of watching my entire extended family “make hay while the sun shines” and by “shines” we do mean “beats down mercilessly.”
Growing up with horses isn’t nearly as glamorous and lush as one might imagine. There is a lot of sweat.
Many remember the feeling of the last day of school and the glorious, sweet freedom of summer. That is nearly universal. More personal to me is the scent of hot asphalt steaming after an afternoon rain. This memory immediately transports me to the street where I grew up.
Threaded among the collective memory of fresh cut grass, chlorine and baby oil (sunscreen was for sissies) is the scent of warm hay mow — dusty but fresh with a hint of the horse stalls below. This is from my Grandmother’s farm.
There is even a smell — intensely unpleasant, if I recall it correctly — of the mosquito spray trucks that drove around my hometown in summer evenings. A mist of chemicals spewing a sort of burnt stench that now evokes a sort of nostalgia along with a small fear that I’ll develop some terrible affliction from whatever that actually was.
For all the “crunchy granola” hype of the 70s, we didn’t ask a lot of questions. On the upside, I suppose I can be marked safe from the risk of having contracted childhood malaria?
Summer was and is a whole personality unto itself. This summer’s temperament has, thus far, been downright disrespectful. One moment we were shivering in June. It was too cold to swim or go outside without a jacket. Then we blinked, and the outside temperature reached what I can only imagine is the temperature felt on the surface of the sun.
I am not meant for the tropics. I live in Ohio where we have four seasons for a REASON. I put up with a place where the air hurts my face in winter so I do not have to live in a place where the air is as thick as hot chowder in the summer. Reaching highs of 100 degrees feels like a betrayal.
Granted, it seems like people are often disappointed by summer overall. Summer is like New Year’s Eve or Valentine’s Day. It gets a lot of hype. So much expectation is pinned on it being “amazing,” “delightful” and “memorable” that it’s hard for mere seasons to live up to that.
Anything less than 76 degrees and sunny every single day is a travesty! Even at that, we would complain that we really needed rain. That lake levels are down and their plants and crops are parched if it actually is sunny every day.
I did what I could to get it to rain. I’ve washed my car. I’ve planned to mow the lawn. I’ve even scheduled a garden party with some of my friends. All of those things should guarantee an absolute downpour.
Now that July 4 has passed, I suppose it’s time for back to school supplies, pumpkin spice everything and Christmas trees. I say we slow down and meet summer where it is. If it’s too hot, take a Popsicle and a swim. Too cold? Enjoy a campfire, a hike or my favorite, a long nap.
