“I’m drowning in a cloud of soggy air,” my friend Dean complained in an e-mail.
He’s not particularly fond of August.
He listed several other strikes against summer: sticky heat, annoying insects, and “the garish light of a fire-filled sky.”
So tell me, Dean, how do you really feel about summer?
We all loved summertime when we were kids, didn’t we? At what age does the season turn against us? When did summer stop being fun?
Once upon a time, summer was the smell of chlorine; it was the shriek of the lifeguard’s whistle while songs by Three Dog Night blared from the swimming pool speakers.
Back in the days when my shorts were ratty cutoffs, summer was one good thing after another. In the small town of Pawnee Rock, it meant riding my bike five hours a day, chasing lizards at The Rock, and walking a mile to the creek.
When our parents couldn’t drive us to the pool in Larned, I splashed around with friends in their backyard stock tank. And now that I think about it, that was pretty much a … redneck swimming pool. But, you use what you have.
Occasionally, my friends and I camped out in one of our backyards and we stayed up until 2 a.m., sneaking around town in the shadows.
Grandma took custody of us cousins for a week during the summer. We slept in those hot, second floor bedrooms in her farmhouse. The windows were wide open, but there was not a breeze within 20 miles of the place. Did it even occur to us to complain? No.
When I turned 16, many summer evenings were spent cruising Main Street in Larned with friends. Some days we drove to Lake Wilson where we spread our cheerful towels out on the sand, hoping for a tan, but getting a burn.
Nowadays, summers are all about SPF 45 sun block, West Nile Virus, and Lyme Disease. Summers mean looking for a shady parking spot so the dashboard doesn’t melt. And with everyone wearing tank tops and shorts, we spot tattoos that we didn’t really care to see.
I’m not a kid anymore, but I’m still a summer girl. I love the freedom that the season brings – there’s no driving on ice, or wearing a coat, or being cold.
Sometimes I think I’m the lone defender of summer.
It seems as if most Kansans, bless your collective hearts, tend to favor winter over summer.
While most people grumble about summer, I’m a winter grumbler. My skin is thin; it does a poor job of keeping out the cold. And if there’s one thing I cannot abide in this world, it’s being cold.
When people occasionally warn me about the flaming afterlife, I say, “Well, ya know, that wouldn’t really be a problem for me.”
Yeah, OK, summer is hot. I’ll give you that.
Lawns start to curl at the edges like an old newspaper. After two weeks of highs in the upper 90s, green just gives up and goes home.
August flattens the state. Highways glare as heat rises. There seems to be no buffer between us and the sun.
So, the hostilities begin. People take aim at summer; they curse the boiling thermometer with its unforgiving temperatures. Humidity is like unwelcome house guests that never quite get around to packing their bags.
But many people can’t tolerate high temperatures and they bow to the altar of air conditioner vents. They close the drapes to shut out that garish light of the fire-filled sky.
Summer is just not the playground it used to be.
According to my winter-loving friend, Dean, “Brightly-colored beach towels lie to us all. Good times are promised but not delivered.
“There is no fun in the sun.”
“Flyover People” is online at www.flyoverpeople.net.