Heart and Mind

Reflections on Summer

I purposely titled this entry the way I did for ironic value. It's a lame title and it sounds like it describes and essay that was borne out of those trite, boring journal prompts: "Describe summer and what it means to you" or something.

Well, hopefully by now, you all know better that I'm going to do more that dish lame reflections about sitting at the beach and watching sunsets and crap like that. What I'm going to write might be boring, but it won't be typical.

Actually, to put it on the table, by the end of this essay, I hope to make comparisons between the demise of summer and the slow, burning demise of my lawn, and about how both of them seem to decay and wither much earlier than we'd expect them to.

So...where to begin?

When I was a teenager, I use to firmly state that I hated the summer and that I was a creature of winter. I didn't like the heat and I loved the cool crisp weather of winter. Oh, and I hated wearing shorts. I used to wear jeans all summer long, which was a very dirtbag-ish thing to do back in the day. I wasn't a dirtbag and I didn't play one on TV, but I sometimes enjoyed looking like one.

I also used to like not being typical. It probably subconciously bugged me that everyone gushed over warm, summery weather and bitched about the cold. So I did the opposite.

These days, I've mellowed and have taken a page from my wife's point of view, because I think she's onto something: "I like the change of seasons," she says. She's always ready for the next one and likes them all because they are all temporary.

That's where I stand these days. It's really true. Granted, I'm not one of those people who laments that it's not summer in the winter and vice versa. But I'm usually ready for the change.

Seasons get old.

They do.

You know why?

Because when you're not in a particular season, there is a ton of romance involved in your recollections of what it means to be spring, summer, autumn, or winter.

Take winter. Some people always are outspoken about their hatred of winter, but when you do get those people who go through stages where they pine for winter, they usually think of Christmas (even though it's only a few days removed from fall) and snuggling in warm sweaters by a fire. Oh, and, of course, they think of snow. Freshly fallen, frosty white crystals that cover the ground and tree tops like a portrait of an old-fashioned nothern country meadow or something. And that's awesome, except for the fact that the snowscapes in our worlds looks like that from about 6:00 AM TO 7:00 AM—the brief period before we go outside and dig ourselves out to go to work. Then after that, we're left with a dirty, black, sloppy, slushy, mess that can lasts weeks.

Well, with summer, the romance is in the beaches and barbecues and warm nights with old friends tanned a golden (and unhealthy) brown. But when you get into mid-August, it's what they call "the dog days" of summer: hot, humid, gross, and tiring. And your lawn probably is half dead. But more about the lawn later...

When we think about summer, most of us don't think about the dog days. We think of the romance. This year, I got a very early taste of the dog days, and I'm not sure where it came from. It was the first week in July, which is usually the height of the "romance" days: the Fourth of July, friends, and the official recognition that summer is definitely HERE! But after one particularly busy weekend, I got that "smell" of the dog days, that sense of deja vu.

Do you know what I'm talking about when I say "smell?" In this case, it has nothing to do with anything olfactory, but I got the same kind of strong association I get with smell. Let me explain...

Have you ever been walking through the mall and you suddently get a whiff of someone who is wearing the same pefume or cologne of an old ex? That always knocks me out, and all of a sudden I get these flashbacks and for a few seconds, I'm living right there in downtown 1987. I start feeling all trippy, wondering how my brain remembered that feeling and sense so well when, frankly, I didn't (nor would care to) remember it myself.

This was the same kind of thing. I suddendly got this "wave" of a feeling over me that reminded me of those days that usually come much later in the summer, where you get tired of the heat, you've been to enough pool parites, and you're sick of being sticky and worn out by the sun. You actually start thinking of autumn's version of romance and about getting things back to normal in your life as you look forward to the rebirth of fall. (That's right, I said rebirth. I know fall is the time when things die and get ready for the winter hibernation, but I have always felt that autumn in the true era of birth, not spring...but the reasons for that will have to be discussed in another blog down the road. In a "Reflections on Autumn" blog.)

It's funny, because August frequently isn't anymore hot or humid than July, but by late summer, it starts getting old. The novelty has worn off and it becomes tiresome.

Isn't Labor Day kind of depressing? There is something bittersweet about it: it's the official signpost that tells you that the dream and optimism of summer is over, and yet there is this ironic part to it all because you're actually well-ready for it.

And most people's lawns are completely dead by then.

Yeah, let's get back to talking about my lawn.

First of all, I resemble Hank Hill in the respect that I really do appreciate having a nice lawn. It's become a little of an obsession. When I moved into my place in 1999, it was weed-city. But I busted my ass to turn that turf around. I seeded, I mowed, I dug, I planted, and I turned into a lawn junkie who was out there edging my lawn more often than anyone I ever knew. The payoff was pretty good.

A couple years later, I took the next step when I got sprinklers put in.

And after taking the lawn to what I felt was reasonably "all I could accomplish on my own," I got on board with a pro-fertilizing program. I still do all the landscaping, but Scotts comes to my place 8 or 9 times a year and treats it with the fertilizers and weedkillers that are "prescription grade." You can't get 'em over the counter at Home Depot.

Put all of that together and it seems like you've got a winning formula. But it's short lived...

You see, in the spring...maybe late April through May, my lawn is a plush landscape of thick, hearty greens. It needs to be cut twice a week and it produces about 10 bags every time. It's hard work, but it's a thing of beauty.

But now—and it's been slowly going in this direction since June, which is way too early—it's really burning up into a gross, crispy brown. It's not the worst looking lawn on the block, but it's not nearly up to the standard I expect given that I do have the sprinklers and the high end fertilizers. I should have the best lawn on the block, but I don't anymore by a longshot.

I still cut it once a week, but it only produces a couple of bags and it's all patchy and uneven.

Apparantely, a good portion of my lawn is this very shallow-rooting seed called "cut grass," which, in the words of my lawn guy, can be "hit with all the water in the world and it's not going to survive the heat." Despite his claims, I keep trying, but I lose the battle.

It will probably grow back in the fall, but I should really thatch it up at that point and replant some heartier seed. Until then, mowing the lawn is kind of depressing for me. Earlier in the season, I'd look forward to getting out there and getting the job done, and I wanted to edge everytime and really just make it beautiful. Now, I just want to get it done quickly, get on with it. And realize that I'll just go through the same motions again next week. It's a chore. I mean, it's always a chore, but it's only a chore now.

The lawn died too early this year and, in many ways, so did the summer. I'll ride it out—the summer and the lawn—until the temperate days of fall return and the grass starts filling back in. I'm counting on it being nice and lush again by the time the leaves turn gorgeous hues of orangy-red colors, when we'll be in the heart of the autumn romance period.

posted by Steve @ 11:01 PM