In September, the house is sheathed with spiderwebs. At every corner of every window they build their deadly, gossamer castles and lie in wait, bloated and insatiable.
Crane flies perch and hover at windows and doors. Fledglings pick at the seeds of weeds I’ve left to grow unchecked all the hot summer long.
Grasshoppers munch, leap, munch, leap, fly.
Some flowers are spent.
Others are just beginning to bloom.
Others send out a few last blooms as an encore to June’s performance.
The nights are growing longer minute by minute.
Everything that flies or crawls or hops is preparing for the harder, colder season ahead.
I finally trim back the overgrown and uproot the unwanted.
I remember how much I like tea.
I go on a real grocery shopping trip.
School has begun. Summer, for all intents and purposes, has ended.
And I am not sorry to see it go.
I never am.
Minute by minute, another August is ending. September whispers at the edges of leaves. It’s time for bats in the house and flocks of blackbirds lifting as one from fields and lighting like raindrops on telephone wires. Young woodpeckers sit on my windowsill and peck at their reflections. Hummingbirds hover at my morning glories and anise hyssop. The bees and wasps get more aggressive, the chipmunks get cheekier, and my pantry shelves fill up with jars to see us through another year of toast and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
It’s the time of big clouds and dramatic sunsets and morning rain. It’s the time when the squirrels steal my almost-ripe tomatoes and I vow yet again not to plant them next year. The weeds I should have pulled are spreading their seeds all over the garden to be sure I’ll have weeds to pull next year as well. I did manage one big day in the dirt recently when the humidity dropped a bit and the temperature was only in the low 80s. But by and large I’ve been a neglectful gardener this year.
And as others finish up their trips and put away their luggage, we find that there are still places to go. San Antonio for him, Albuquerque for me, and smaller jaunts around the state for conferences and book events and hiking trips. There are books to write and books to revise. In the evenings after the boy goes to bed, we sit in the Cigar Room pursuing our shared passion.
Soon the goldfinches will be lending their color to the trees and the nights will be cool enough for fires in the fire pit outside. Soon we’ll be able to give our poor overworked air conditioner a nice long break. They’re predicting a snowy winter for the Great Lakes Region this year. I hope they’re right. In the meantime, I look forward to fall and bid this summer a fond farewell. It’s been marvelous. But I’m ready for the next thing.
The weather was hot and perfect for waterfront activities.
The kids were engaged, generally nice to each other, and most had pretty good attitudes.
The campfires were fun (I was the “fire guy” for the week, building the fire each night).
The evenings were sweet and silent and when the sun was fully down the sky was riddled with stars.
This truly is one of my favorite places on earth.
Here’s the video CLL staff put together for our week. You can spot me in a teal hoodie at the campfire near the 0:38 mark. I’m pointing at something, but I have no idea what.
The video from a couple years back was even better because the tech guy on staff had a drone (which was super creepy and borderline sentient) and there was a lot more use of the GoPro camera:
Either way, I’m sure you can see why I love spending time at Lake Louise.
Is there a better way to end a summer night?
#PureMichigan #nofilter #camplakelouise
The peonies are nearly done and the roses are blooming like they mean it.
Yes, the days are hot and humid of late. But the mornings are like this.
It’s been hot and humid in the Great Lakes State.
We’re canning peaches, plums, and apricots and seeing the first apples harvested.
Birds, bees, and butterflies are at their busiest, storing away food and fat reserves for the coming cold.
It’s the time of yellow flowers.
It’s the time of frogs.
And this year it also happens to be the time of floods.
The pond at Fenner Nature Center looks to be a foot higher than the last time I was there, and on our trip there Friday, the boy and I spied little schools of minnows swimming across the deck.
Frogs have taken to floating lazily at the surface rather than sitting on their customary rocks, which are now submerged.
In a few months the teasel will be brown and far less forgiving to the touch. Leaves that are currently melting will be crispy and skipping along the ground.
Already the international students are moving in at Michigan State University (and disregarding stop signs in the Meijer parking lot while I walk across with my seven-year-old). The rest of the college students will be back by next week. You know how people in the South blitz their grocery stores when the forecast is predicting an inch of snow? I kind of feel like I should be prepping before the U-Hauls start arriving in town.
As always, by this time I’m largely done with summer. But we have a couple very busy months coming up, so I’m trying to relish what’s left of it.
He’s getting bigger, yes.
But he’s still little.
He wishes he could stay seven forever.
And in some ways, so do I.