I wish Summer would hurry up and get here. Philosophically it is already Summer in these parts. That happens when you have to close the windows and turn on the air conditioner. Which happened the first of May, a full month earlier than I like. Really, mid-June would be ideal, but 90F+ days in early May, and a husband who likes his creature comforts (and he deserves them, because he works hard), and a constitution softened by life as a Precious, Precious Princess demanded that the interior household climate be held steady at 75F and low humidity.
A friend told me this:
“The pioneers did not have air conditioning. They all died.”
He may have a point there.
I have picked several nice batches of snow peas, and they’re about done and ready to be pulled up and replaced with climbing green beans. Burgundy beans, actually. The English peas are just starting to produce, and I was able to throw a good handful of just-picked ones in the wheat pilaf for supper. Supper also involved a salad made entirely of stuff from the garden: romaine lettuce, arugula, beet greens, and a wayward head of oak leaf lettuce found growing out in the yard. I have no idea how *that* got there, but there it was, and lovely too. The tomatoes are growing nicely, as are the peppers, eggplant, basil, and poona kheera cucumbers. Lest you get all impressed with the size of the garden, I have maybe 2 or 3 plants of most things, not whole rows. Except for the snow peas, English peas, and beets. It’s purely a hobby garden, not an attempt at feeding the family in some money-saving fashion. I’d like to do that, but the size of the spot that is sunny enough t grow things simply isn’t conducive..unless I were to dig up the rose bed and plant foodstuffs in there. But that will only happen when the Great Economic Collapse happens and we have to resort to picking chicory from the side of the road.
School is out in 2 weeks. No more toting people back and forth twice a day, no more requirement to get up at 5:30am…tho I probably will because I cherish the early morning hours with Terry, but not having to be showered and dressed by 7:30 will be sweet.
There are so many things about Southern Summers that I love. Afternoon thunderstorms that cool things off…or make the air so thick with humidity it’s like a hot, wet blanket thrown over your head. The chorus of tree frogs that start barking at dusk. And no, they do not chirp sweetly. They bark like dogs, answering each other back and forth so loudly it can interrupt a mint-julep enhanced conversation on the patio.
As a child, our house had an attic fan, and Summer nights meant open windows and the rhythmic thrum of the fan, forcing a breeze through an open bedroom window, cooling the house enough that a light blanket (mine was a flannel sheet with purple pansies printed on it, and bound in lavender satin tape) was sometimes needed.
What I wonder now, is what will Summers feel like once there are no children in the house, and it will no longer mean a change in routine? Will there still be a relaxed sensibility? Or will it just mean “same old thing, only hot”?