Dakota Beacon

What happened with summer? As if in a rearview mirror, Memorial Day and Independence Day recedes in memory while Summer’s passing accelerates toward autumn.

Summer passed so quickly. Northern hemisphere or southern hemisphere, summers are the same duration. But why does summer seem to pass so quickly? Maybe it’s the busyness we immerse ourselves in that distracts us. So much to do; so little time. Rush, rush, rush.

But within the season lies a perennial contradiction. It is easy to love summer for its warmth and breeze -- yet hate it for its heat and humidity. This, too, distracts us from the passage of time. In the blink of an eye, we soon exchange the heat for the cold.

Summer comes and then -- as quickly goes. Gardens, flush with fresh offerings of fruit and vegetables, look weary of their work. They bore the summer’s heat to bring good things to us -- lettuce, tomatoes, beans, potatoes, carrots, cucumbers, beets -- and everyone’s favorite -- zucchini. It seems just last week we were scurrying to cover seedlings to guard against frost. Now we scurry to guard against insects, rabbit and deer.

Kids’ summer swimming lessons give way to late summer water play. Ignoring blue lips and goosebumps, berry-brown kids splash the day away plying their new-found skills.

Where does the time go? Soon the kids will awaken to a new school year bringing a collective sigh from haggard parents. Time rolls on as surely as the sun rises.

With summer’s end in sight, farmers know it. Most hay is cut, bailed, and collected. Signs of harvest appear. Those who sow early reap early. Combines make their first tentative passes as acres of wheat bow before the headers. Canola lies curing in long sun-drenched rows. Sunflowers turn their yellow faces to the rising sun tracking its inevitable course across the sky.

Where has time gone? Young birds, nest-bound only weeks ago, awkwardly transit the twilight zone between fledgling and adulthood. One moment they stretch youthful wings in tentative flight. Then, like any adolescent badgering their parents for food, they wait expectantly on the ground to be fed.

Even the insects mark the passing of time. Young crickets rehearse their chirpy songs on warm evenings preparing for the cool autumn days ahead. Ants work unobtrusively without ceasing at their God-given tasks.

Summer passes quickly, but not quickly enough for the neighbor’s dog. Patiently he endures one hot summer day after another. With tail and tongue drooping, he surrenders to the heat by flopping down on a patch of cool damp earth hoping for relief.

You know summer’s end is near when you find berries and cherries ripe on the bush. Only yesterday the fragrance of blossoms drifted in the spring air. Today, nestled plump and ripe amidst the leaves, they all but cry out “Pick me.” Thoughts of summer return when spreading berry jelly in January on toast.

Vacations, so long in the planning, fly by to join a host of other memories. Fun times, expected for months, pass all too quickly only to make room for the next calendar event.

When ponds recede and the ducklings and goslings mature enough to fend for themselves; when walleye retreat to the deep, cool pools in their lakes; when the sun rises a little later and sets a little earlier; a sense of nostalgia settles in a person’s mind wondering where summer has gone.

The wise psalmist prays, “Teach us to number our days.” We are allotted only so many days for our lifetime and will travel down life’s road only once. Why not savor the moments before they slip away forever?

*  *  *  *  *

Here are two stanzas from James Whitcomb Riley’s longer poem “A Summer Afternoon.”

Off through the haze that dances in the shine

The warm sun showers in the open glade,

The forest lies, a silhouette design

Dimmed through and through with shade.

And drowsily I hear the plaintive strain

Of some poor dove…Why, I can scarcely keep

My heavy eyelids – there it is again –

“Coo-coo!” – I mustn’t – “Coo-coo!”

Fall asleep!

Dennis M. Patrick can be contacted at (JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address).