As the summer wanes, the camps nearby are empty from the giggles, music, and loud, late-night UNO games. Chainsaws are silent until cooler weather, but the bass along the shore chime in with a splash now and then.
Chirping crickets overpower the buzz of mosquitoes, and the crows become more brazen in their hollering from nests in the pines along the shore. At this time of year, I become part of the landscape, just listening and making very little noise of my own. I am guilty of utilizing my Bluetooth speaker, but I keep the volume down unless “Sister Golden Hair” from America surprises me. I always turn it up.
The raspberries are gone now; we had our fill, so walks in the woods don’t come with complimentary traveling snacks. The blueberries all around me look great, but most are not mine, and I don’t take berries that belong to someone else; the bears do enough of that. I’ll grab a pint today from one of the easily accessible roadside, serve-yourself kiosks made from old lumber and leftover metal roofing. The honor system still works here.
Four bucks for the berries and a buck for a pint of half-and-half make late-night snacking seem like a healthful proposition.
Since my youth, I’ve always found myself a little bummed out when school starts. I know it isn’t starting for me, but I carry the mood for all those kids who must go back. It was always my saddest time, leaving summer behind for a tiny desk, an uncomfortable chair, and grocery bag book covers. My sisters usually helped me cover my books; I wonder if kids do that anymore.
I get some grief from readers who try to give me a pep talk when I write about feelings of late summer: “TC, there’s all kinds of summer left.” Then, they recite the number of days between here and autumn. I can look at a calendar, too, but I judge time internally with assistance from sounds and not numbers on paper.
I don’t relish pep talks. There are times when it’s better to embrace sadness; melancholy moods are part of our journey. Being happy all the time would be so boring; kids need to know that. Don’t lead them to believe that joy is the only emotion to be embraced.
For me, seasons are internal, based on feelings and overnight temperatures. I consider the breeze’s direction and whether or not it makes my nose feel cold. Seasons have a particular sound and feeling underfoot. I can’t put a date on it. Seasons are within me.
It’s late summer in Maine, so don’t try to tell me anything different.
On our walk last night, Ellie agreed to pose for her late-summer portrait near the bones of a decaying homebuilt rowboat in the backyard of one of my camp neighbor’s places. I cut through the old tote road behind it, but I have permission. I do not cut through the yard when he’s here because privacy means something. He tells me to, but I can’t.
It’s late summer in Maine, and I’m the only one who embraces the opportunity to admit it.
From the Jagged Edge of America, we remain,
TC
&
Ellie
Thank you for all your support for keeping the blog and me up and running. The kindness of my readers using BuyMeACoffee app is a boost to a man believing that writing for a living is possible without national tours and huge advances. Thanks to those who joined and to those who will join. I appreciate you so much
Tim Cotton