I was on my way to Arnoldsburg yesterday for a quick run to the bank and the store when I was stopped on Route 33, where workers were replacing a power pole (I think, that’s what it seemed like). While I was waiting, I took time to look around and observe the hills rising on each side of us.
Reluctantly, I noticed tinges of rust, orange, and brown, just here and there, barely noticeable. As if reading my mind, a lone leaf fell from a branch above and slowly floated down to the asphalt in front of my car. I watched it through my windshield and recognized it as a sign appearing briefly alongside the man-made sign that switched from “Stop” to “Slow” and signaled it was time to move on.
Summer has reached its peak, and now it’s all downhill until winter. I say downhill, as if we aren’t rolling into autumn, my favorite time of year. I’ve spent the last months on the back porch swing observing all the different shades of green between the porch and the sky. How many shades of green are there? You can see them all in these summer hills.
I didn’t spend enough time outside this summer, overwhelmed by indoor work and tortured by outdoor humidity. But I have seen now the sign of autumn’s pending arrival, and have marked yesterday as the beginning of the summer’s end. When the leaves are all gone and the trees are bare, I will look back and tally the time it took from yesterday until then.
The Farmer’s Almanac is calling for a cold and blustery winter, and I made myself a promise this morning that I will spend time in the porch swing (humidity allowing) every day from here until the cold sets in. I am glad this year to know the lush greenery is not going to take over. After last year’s drought, it seems this year everything green has been overly abundant. Mowing once a week was not enough, and the blackberry thickets have doubled in size.
There’s a period, most summers, when dampness just “sets in” to our house. We don’t have central air, and the indoor environment is maintained by a room air conditioner here, a strategically-placed dehumidifier there, and fans to help those appliances work at peak performance.
It is my least favorite time of the entire year.
Some summers, like last year, the lack of normal valley humidity spared me this misery, but some years, the whole season was filled with moisture. And when the fecund period has passed, everything needs to be washed. All wood needs wiped, surfaces polished, drapes, blankets, and rugs washed. I spray Lysol on all the fabric furniture (underneath especially), and mop as rarely as possible. Our home is made of cement block, the basement has a cement floor, and if I’m not careful, mold and mildew set in.
It doesn’t help that if it rains a lot in a little span of time (like it did in early July), water seeps through the wall in our back basement corner under the stairs. I am grateful our dehumidifier has wheels.
Though I am grateful for it, I don’t care for air conditioning. (Frank hates it.) Too much time in indoor A/C ruins you for outdoor activity. I always try to keep a balance. (And, Frank is prone to make note of major increases in the electric bill.) I don’t ever want to live completely without air conditioning, but I don’t want to be spoiled by it.
But air conditioners do control the humidity level. As they say, it’s not the heat - it’s the humidity.
And, I’m allergic to mold and mildew.
I know there will be more hot and humid days yet, but that single falling leaf yesterday let me know also that they will no longer span over weeks at a time. The annual humidity battle is coming to an end, and my washer and dryer have been running overtime. I am in the process of a top-to-bottom wipe-down, and have my dehumidifier and A/Cs to make sure the humidity doesn’t set in again before fall and the evenings when we finally turn our heaters back on.
As the days pass, from here until the end of the season, colors other than green will creep back into my back porch view. Slowly, flashes of yellow and orange will pop up here and there, and before we know it, the hills will be ablaze in all their autumn glory, the green fields rolled up in beige bales of hay.
There’s something comforting in the processes of harvest season, in the winding down of summer. Something deeply soothing in the chorus of “back-to-school insect song” as crickets and katydid grow louder and more demanding. There’s a normality to this natural process I find grounding when it seems our civilization grows less and less civilized. And lately, I have preferred watching nature over the news.
News today brings anger, fear, frustration. Nature, this week, has inspired me to write. And, the back porch view brought a special treat this past week, prompting the following prose poem:
I briefly saw a bear today,
across the pond behind our house.
Only because it was up on hind legs,
a dark shadow amongst the summer greens,
bending bushy Autumn Olive branches
in a way no deer could manage.
I thought, perhaps a coon until
I realized it was grounded,
and understood then why
the dogs had been barking “at nothing,”
their noses lifted in the air.
Why wrestle an Autumn Olive bush?
For berries? Bugs? The sweetest leaves?
The reward must have been disappointing,
for the bear returned to all fours
vanishing behind the thick bouquets of reeds
at the far edge of the water.
And though I knew the bear was right there,
I saw no further sign of its presence,
only the leaning of spindly willow stems
swaying in the afternoon breeze.
I hope, as we roll into the best time of year, in the back-to-school hustle and bustle, you also take time to get outside, recover from summer challenges, and enjoy some quiet time. We need it to balance the dramas of humanity we all face today. When you feel frustrated, or worried, or even angry, see that as a sign that you need some outside time. You might see the first falling leaf of autumn, or a bear scrounging for berries. And you will find comfort there.