MIDSUMMER'S PLIGHT – Hues of My Early-August Blues

It’s early August and, at least meteorologically, summer’s half over.

Along with that rather imprecise milestone comes a trickle of melancholy, one I know will swell, and by late September overflow my emotional sandbags.

      Spring defies gravity; late summer obeys.

Never have I been more aware of the truth of the previous and subsequent seasons’ names: spring and fall. Spring defies gravity; late summer obeys—as do my spirits. Anticipation slides into memory; hope, into gratitude—and perhaps a regret or two.

In spring, Nature’s on the offensive, everything rising, spreading, reaching for the sun. By late July, though, things are sagging. Now it’s about adapting, hanging on and, eventually, letting go.

PHOTO: Garden Style San Antonio

As seasonal transitions go, this one, from early summer to late, is seldom acknowledged. But it’s full of wistful wonder which, if I pay attention, touches all my senses. I encourage you to contemplate it too.

LISTEN
Already, a few leaves are dropping, drifting silently to the ground. Acorns fall with more authority…and bounce. Their caps’ satisfying crunch underfoot has always been, for me, an early harbinger of fall.

Speaking of later-summer sounds, it’s now one notices bird song modulating from the urgent airs of spring into a more business-like chatter, from the eager tone of expectant parents to the more subdued chirping of empty-nesters. 

At night, it’s the overture of cricket music, seldom heard here before mid-July. From the shrill, strumming ensemble my favorite instrument stands out: the synchronous pulsing of snowy tree crickets (whose cadence uncannily measures the temperature*).
       After-dinner daylight is losing its charge.

LOOK
Late summer brings different shades of green. The still-unfurling, citrusy hues of spring green have turned darker, dusty. The leaves’ once innocent faces are now sullied by half a summer’s elements, many scarred, too, by bugs and fungus. 

The season squeezes new colors onto forest and meadow palettes: tawny grasses, wilted wildflowers, the occasional upstart leaf blurting its gold or crimson.

Flowers also affirm the transition. Many have come and gone. Those splendid hybrid lilies I’ve been photographing since mid-June are giving way to the day kind. Now we’re seeing asters and mums, phlox, hydrangea and sunflowers

It's time for the yellow jackets to take off. Just tonight, at our neighborhood picnic, they were out in force. For me, one with a history of painful confrontations with these combative marauders, they're among the least pleasant of midsummer's little insults.

The shadows grow longer earlier. With sunset well on its way to clawing back its grim 4:30 time slot, after-dinner daylight is losing its charge.

SMELL
Be aware, these days, of subtle changes in the air. The fresh lilt of spring breezes ripens with earthy notes of decay and fungus. It's like moving from a young Beaujolais Nouveau to a nice, well-rounded French Pinot Noir. 

And taste, let’s not forget this most essential sense. Midsummer bids a fond farewell to the freshest citrus fruits and those sublime Mexican Ataulfo mangoes, and welcome to home-grown tomatoes and sweet corn—without equal in any supermarket. Soon those, in turn, will give way to apples and squash.

       Soon it will be out with the dock, 
       in with the canning and patio furniture.

FEEL 
The effect on one’s sense of touch by this midsummer passage is a bit harder to pin down. But there are signs. 

Tinged with dust and mold and new strains of pollen, the air feels different in the nose, on the skin. I sneeze more—just a prelude, I guess, to mid-August when the ragweed detonates.

We now see occasional days of slightly cooler, drier air, days when folks start saying, “Feels like fall.” 

I don’t know if it’s a real thing or not, but there are subtle changes in one’s motivation each day, from spring and early summer’s spirit of openings and plantings and cleanings…to late summer’s closings, reapings and stowings. Soon it will be out with the dock, in with the canning and patio furniture, and other rites that leave me, if I let them, a little blue.

How about you?

PHOTO: Wikipedia

CHALLENGE: How do you experience this under-appreciated transition from early summer to late summer? Is it something you enjoy or dread? Or maybe you find it, as I do, bittersweet. Any tips on how to ease the melancholy? We’d love to hear from you…
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* The calculation is (for Fahrenheit): count the number of trill pulses in 14 seconds and add 40. (I’ve done this many times over the years—as recently as tonight—and have always come within a degree either way of the actual temperature.)