Whitney Grady column: Sweet summertime
There are those of us who prefer certain seasons. Some love the crispness of fall, but not the bitterness of winter. Some adore the sweet freshness of spring, but not the heat of summer. No matter the preference, you can’t deny the magic of each unique season.
There’s the magic of gratitude in fall and the magic of believing in winter. There’s the magic of new life in spring and the magic of freedom in summer. Like many things, sometimes as we get older a bit of the magic begins to fade and we must look through the eyes of a child to remember …
Summer to a child is the recess to a school year. There’s nothing quite like that last school bell, ringing out the end of a year and the start to a summer. Do you remember the stomach-dropping glee that slams the textbooks shut for a year and opens wide the screen door to a sunny summer of endless possibilities?
If summer was a day, June would be the rising sun. June is full of hope of things that could be. Summer starts with days that stretch on and on. Days are made of riding bikes, playing games and splashing about in pools or just a backyard hose.
June is hammock-swinging and sticky popsicles. Long June days are anchored by late nights outside after cookouts and chasing fireflies with bare feet rushing through cut grass.
July is summer’s mid-day. It brings red strawberries, white Cool Whip and blueberries in patriotic desserts. July is suntanned skin, the cracking of a baseball bat hitting a home run and fireworks bursting in the sky. July is watermelon smiles and lemonade stands. It is bonfires and shell hunting. It is the smell of coconuts in sunscreen.
July is camp songs, sandcastles, and saltwater tides. July is winds whistling through beach grasses on the dunes and the singing of cicadas. It is lazy afternoon board games during summer storms.
August approaches and the sun begins to slowly set on summer. August is full of “one more”s – one more wave, one more firefly, one more sandcastle, one more bike ride. With each “one more” comes a sinking feeling that it could be the last. Boogie boards are packed away again and the store shelves filled with spiral notebooks and crayons. Bedtimes become better-regulated and summer moments start to slip into summer memories.
August asks, did you get enough of summer? The answer is always the same: Just enough to last me until next summer.
