Normally, I’m optimistic about the weather. Ask my wife; it drives her nuts. For instance, I spent every day this past winter confident the snow would, in fact, return — well into April, even as the tanzanite shops started reopening.
But lately I’ve been feeling that old familiar end-of-summer feeling. And it’s only going to get stronger, no matter how long I continue wearing cut-off jeans shorts, which also drives my wife nuts; she really hates the cut-off jeans shorts.
It’s okay, though. I’ve come to accept the fact that summer’s over (although I’m still updating my NOAA forecast app thrice hourly, just in case). Of course, acceptance, according to the Kubler-Ross model of the “Five Stages of Grief,” is the final stage for someone faced with impending death, the others being denial, anger, bargaining and depression. Yes! I’ve made it to the final stage grieving the death of summer — as all Alaskans must every year around this time — and it only took me a decade of summers living up here! See, my mom always said I was advanced.
Let’s trace the path:
1. Denial: What are you talking about?! It’s only August. Okay, third week of August, but still more than a week until Labor Day. That’s eight whole days left to wear white shoes — that’s like an eternity. Those alders outside my window? Their leaves aren’t starting to turn. It’s just been dry here … for the last five minutes. What travel plans for Thanksgiving? I haven’t made any travel plans for Thanksgiving. Okay, so I outlined dates. And booked reservations. But I’m still just “holding” those reservations. I’ve got 24 hours to cancel, change or pay for those reservations, so there, summer: alive and kicking. Oh, and the T-shirt stores don’t close for a whole month. As long as you can buy bear claw salad tongs, it’s still summer.
2. Anger: Great, just great—what am I going to do with all this sunscreen, now? And how about that inflatable kiddie pool? Just when I was starting to get used to not having pee-pee in the hot tub (although, a little pee-pee is a small price to pay for an outdoor activity on a cold, rainy weekend, but still, I don’t think it’s too much to ask to have a hot tub without pee-pee in it!). Dagnabbit! I’m so mad I’m cussing like a grizzled Klondike prospector. My peas haven’t even come in yet, consarnit! What am I supposed to put in my Bloody Marys now instead my own homegrown pickled pea pods? Store-bought celery, like some kind of cheeckacko? I’ll be hornswoggled!!!!
3. Bargaining: Tell you what? Just give me one more stretch of sun—just long enough to catch a bunch of salmon, stain my deck, level my yard, hike the ridge, take out the kayak, spend a night at a Forest Service cabin, make a bonfire, wash the windows, build my kids a tree house and actually go mountain biking after spending $100 tuning it up this past May before promptly parking it in the garage, rode soft and put away dry. I promise I really will do all those things, instead of spending the whole time in a camping chair drinking coffee, switching to beer in the afternoon. Please? Just give me long enough to let me clean up all the junk from my yard I promised to dispose of this summer (and last summer, and the summer before that). I also wouldn’t say no to a fat sack of blueberries.
4. Depression: They call October shoulder season. If that’s the case, then surely August is the armpit of the year. It makes me think of that Simon and Garfunkel song, “April Come She Will,” with its line “August, die she must. Autumn winds blow chilly and cold.” Yeah, they do. And you know what that same song says about September: “September, remember, a love once new has now grown old.” Really looking forward to that. I’m so depressed, I don’t even feel seasonal affective disorder anymore. I think I’ve got seasonal affective disorder disorder.
5. Acceptance: Okay, summer’s over. There, I said it. Fall’s here and winter’s coming, and that’s okay. There’ll be other, indoor projects not to accomplish, well-intentioned money to squander on ultimately unused gear and days frittered away drinking coffee and beer. Plus, those baskets of ski lodge chili cheese fries won’t eat themselves. As for summer, well … I can honestly say that since moving up here in 2006, this one definitely cracks my top 10. And I survived another rec league softball season without pulling a hamstring. I guess what I’m trying to say is this: in a way, summer lives in my heart all year round. That’s why I eat so many Tums.
• Geoff Kirsch is a Juneau-based writer and humorist. “Slack Tide” appears every second and fourth Sunday in Neighbors.
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