Summer Ends

 "The summer wind, comes blowing in, from across the sea..."  This old Frank Sinatra classic song from the mid-1960s is one of my favorites.  It is smooth, accented with organ legatos, and of course Sinatra's classic vocal.  While one usually thinks of this as a song at the beginning of summer, it seems as if the "summer wind" is blowing back out to the south from whence it came.  Today is September 1, and also Labor Day.  Although solstice summer ends in about 19 days, the summer season ends this weekend.  The timeframe between Memorial Day and Labor Day constitutes the classic summer season, as it is the peak time for schools being out, and family vacations.  Usually also, it is the day before the school year starts in many school districts, although in reality our school year where I teach started last week.  It begins a busy four-month countdown to the final days of the current year, and it means a very busy few months are ahead as summer slowly says its goodbye and we begin the slow trek to what will be in a short time the cold months of winter.  In between are holidays - Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's, and a few other days of significance (including my own celebration of my birth, which will happen in November).  The last third of the year is generally perhaps the busiest, although each part of the year has its own significance too.  This is where we are.

I think back to when I was in school as a kid myself.  The approach of a new school year brought with it a cadre of mixed feelings.  I recall being excited with going back to school, with my 4th-grade year particularly coming to mind.  I recall that well.  It was the summer of 1979, and I had just finished up a chaotic third grade year at my dad's in Georgia and we had recently moved back in with my grandmother and step-grandfather in Augusta, WV.  Back then, they lived in an ancient farmhouse that had no indoor plumbing save a cold-water sink in the kitchen, and if you had to go to the bathroom, it was in the custom-built two-seater outhouse my step-grandfather had built just beyond the front door of the house, complete with carpet and a window to look out at the nearby slope of Short Mountain. My grandparents were the picture of Appalachian poor, and their house was an exemplification of that.  However, I did not let that deter me from the excitement of starting 4th grade that year.  I was back at Augusta Elementary School then, and had a couple of old friends I knew from a couple of years previous when we were in 2nd grade.  So, I had the big plan laid out - I spent a lot of the summer collecting an absurd arsenal of every school supply imaginable, and I would spend hours trying to organize it, including washing down my brand-new Trapper Keeper three-ring book with warm soap and water.  By the time the new school year rolled around, on my first day I looked like I was attending a nuclear summit as I even had a briefcase to carry everything in.  Of course, when the rigors of the school year would set in, a lot of that initial enthusiasm would fizzle out and the usual "Oh geez, school AGAIN??" attitude would manifest itself every morning, especially further along when winter really set in and I had to walk over a quarter of a mile to get to my bus stop. I would later find out that teachers had similar feelings, especially once I became a teacher myself. 

The idea of a school year has a pattern to it.  In the beginning is apprehension and excitement, which lasts until right after Christmas break when you start to feel burnout and apathy.  Then, around mid-April, when the traditional Spring Break happened, you are seeing the end in sight, and there are activities, testing, and other things to break up the usual routine.  Then comes the last day of school - you are both excited but also worn-out, and all you are thinking of is sleeping in until 10 AM the first day of summer break.  Summer then has its own course - you want to rest, then you get bored, but then you both dread and anticipate going back.  As mentioned, this pattern is true of both students and teachers - so if you are in school, let me assure you that the teachers in a lot of cases may share your feelings on a different level.  So, let's talk about summers a bit, shall we?

I went through 12 years of formative schooling (unless kindergarten is factored in, and then it is 13).  That means I had about 13 summers I experienced, each as different as the next, and there are many things I experienced in those summer months over the years.  During my high school years, my summers were generally good - I spent time at home creating new recipes for my burgeoning cooking interests, wildcrafting in the woods above our house then, and listening to a lot of good music.  And, church and the fact I was in the high school band then gave me a bit of a social life.  However, there were two summers I would rather forget, and let me tell you a bit about them.  The first was the summer of 1979.  I had spent the Spring in Georgia with Dad then, and when I came back I got my first taste of what bone-crushing poverty felt like.  At the time, Mom and I stayed at my grandfather's rowhouse on Schwartz Street in Martinsburg, WV, and Mom had no income, no hope for anything, and there were nights when the only entertainment we had was the PTL Network on TV and all I had to eat were fried corn cakes and my late step-grandmother's canned applesauce in the basement.  My grandfather at the time was spending a lot of his time up in Parsons, our hometown that was two hours away, courting the lady who would become my new step-grandmother, and she and Mom were not the best of friends.  So, we stayed there by ourselves, and things got very desperate after a while.  Eventually, Mom decided we had enough of living like that, so she made a call to my grandmother in Augusta, and a few hours later they came in my uncle Junior's souped-up car and loaded up what we could, and we went back with them.  But, that started what was probably the most intense 8 years of my life, as I would taste poverty for many of those years until Mom finally landed some good work as a live-in caretaker for a couple of elderly folks and our lives stabilized.  Before that happened, 1979's summer was bookended by 1985, six years later, when we were in similar dire straights and our survival was based at that point on biscuits made from scratch and vegetables jacked out of the neighbors' gardens.  That six-year period - roughly from July 1979 to August 1985 - was a time of having to grow up fast for me, and in time my school actually became less of a burden and more of a diversion from the rather bleak life I had at home.  Again though, I survived all that, and in doing so I also would later rise past it as my life became more stable as a young adult. 

I share that little snippet of my personal history to say that summers can be good or bad, depending on perspective.  Likewise, a new school year can be good or bad depending on the same factors.  I have had the good and bad of both, and the good thing is that they are just seasons of life - they come, they go, and then new challenges arise later.  Without sounding like a lame line from The Lion King, it is a sort of circle of life that revolves around the yearly changes in seasons and what those entail, and we grow from the experience.  God sometimes allows some negative for our own growth, and I have learned that much like I learned everything else in retrospection.  But we do learn, we grow, and we move on, and that is just living life as God gifts us with it. 

For those of my readers who are students or teachers, may we all have a great school year ahead, and let's try to keep the bigger picture in focus, especially on those days when apathy and dread of the daily grind get to us.  Thanks again, and look forward to next time.