Driving past a sports complex on the way to lunch today, I caught the delectable aroma of newly-mowed lawn. A summer smell, to be sure, but one we can enjoy for a few more weeks as summer makes a quiet exit.It's been cool and gray here in northern Wisconsin, but today - a week away from the start of school - the pre-Labor Day heat wave took force. It was humid and hot but yet there were hints of things to come, a quickening of the pace of life, a sense of expectation in the air.
We need to mark this season with some ritual. I must find a new one this year, since I am no longer teaching college journalism.
There were a few years when I was in grade school, when my father would declare a picnic day to mark the end of summer. We would pile in the car about noon with blankets and baskets and suntan lotion and bug spray and then make our way to a park north of the city. Very often our picnic area was along the shore where this photo was shot.
We would set up camp and while hamburgers or hot dogs cooked, we kids played along the rocks and riprap that lined the shore. There were always potato chips and potato salad and fruit for dessert and perhaps chocolate cupcakes. In the afternoon, my father napped on a blanket in the shade, my mother read and we continued our play. Sometimes I just found a rock and sat there looking out at the freighters and ferries in the distance. I guess I was looking toward the future. As I grew older, I was restless, looking for a means of escape. I yearned to be on those boats, going somewhere. I still find the sight of boats in the distance mesmerizing.
We stayed at the park all day, building a bonfire around 7 p.m. We'd gather around it for a time, and my parents played trivia games with us. Then, we'd pack the old Ford and head toward home, with a mosquito bite or two and maybe a scratch and a keen sense of exhaustion.
I always slept well the night after one of those picnics, filled with fresh air from the day behind and anticipation for the new year ahead.
8 comments:
Recording memories like this is a wonderful ritual for marking the season.
I love this idea, Mimi...to mark the end of a season with a tradition. I'm going to start this with my own family thanks to your post!
For me, Mimi, the sound of a distant train whistle evokes the yearnings boats do for you.
A beautiful post, my friend.
We need our rituals, don't we, Lydia.
I have to find a new one, too, Kristen - not sure yet what it will be. There is a book I have read on Labor Day weekend a time or two - maybe I will go back to it...
TerryB, I have that feeling for trains, too. That is the subject of another post...
What a wonderful memory of childhood. Like you, I often sat on a rock looking out into the lake watching the freighters wondering where they were going and what the crew in the pilot house were seeing as they moved up and down the lake. That smell and sound, the smell of campfire in your hair and the feeling of a full tummy are perfect end of summer feeling. Thanks for a little mini-vacation this morning.
I could not think of a better way to spend the day~ how lucky you were as a young person........maybe more of us should do something similar to this~what memories it would stir!
At the summer's close each year I would read "A Year By The Sea" by Anderson. I haven't done that in a couple of years and you just reminded me of it.
BC, that's right, you are a fellow boat nerd!
Jann, so glad you are back! I am glad my parents knew how to make these memories.
Maryann, I have read that book, and Joan Anderson's others, too. I admired her for doing what she did, and even working in the fish market. Thanks for reminding me of that!
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