Late Summer

Late summer is upon us in Minnesota.

The bright green of the trees is fading.

Splashes of turning leaves appear on a few maple trees. The wind reveals a dry, scratchy rustle as it shakes the leave.

The cicadas initiated their mating song a little more than two weeks ago. Their symphony grows louder and stronger by the day.

And classes start at colleges across the state. Most of the K-12 systems typically begin the day after Labor day.

The days are warm, and the nights drop into the 50s. Perfect sleeping weather.

As you read this post, Labor Day weekend is upon us. The commercially-endorsed end of summer. We forget that summer officially ends on the September equinox, which falls on September 22 this year. Despite the Halloween decorations in stores and abundance of pumpkin-spiced everything, two-thirds of September is summer, not fall.

I moved to Minnesota 12 years ago. I am still perplexed a bit by the summers here. In Missouri, the weather was already summery by the time classes ended in early May. “Summer” doesn’t seem to arrive weather-wise in Minnesota until the beginning of June. The trees leaf out and green up seemingly overnight.

Just as we forget the majority of September is summer, we also forget that most of June is spring. Thanks to the commercial start of summer: Memorial Day weekend.

I have a special love for late summer. Growing up in Missouri, August was always a miserably hot month. I grew up in a two-story Victorian-style house with no air conditioning. As a result, it wasn’t uncommon to go to bed at midnight with the temps in my bedroom still in the 90s. Yet, despite the heat, there was a simple joy falling asleep with the fan on, the windows open, and the smell of the woods and cicada’s song wafting past my face. I still get hints of those Augusts growing up, only now with more comfortable sleeping conditions.

I love how nearly 25 years after I packed up my blue Chevy cavalier and headed off into the world for my first year of college, I still find portals back to my youth. The sound of cicadas takes me back to those hot August nights in my room, waiting for sleep to take me. Every time someone says, “Isn’t it ironic?” I still respond, if only in my head, “Don’t you think?”. The smell of an old book still transports me back to the first used bookstore I experienced in Washington, DC, when I was 17. And every river or lake I dip a toe into connects me to the Osage River I spent many summer days on.

These simple occurrences are as effective as a photo album. These unexpected moments during the day remind me that while I am no longer a child, I can revisit those childhood joys in the time and space I occupy now.

May you enjoy the last of the summery days ahead of you. May they warm your body, nourish your heart, and feed your soul.