The last day of summer

“In the summer we lay up a stock of experiences for the winter, as the squirrel of nuts … something for conversation in winter evenings.”

— Henry David Thoreau, Journal, 4 September 1851.

Here in Michigan, the end of summer is marked by Labor Day. Many people go away for one last weekend at the cottage up north. They put away the lawn chairs and take in the boat dock on one of the many lakes, about 10,000, not including the five Great ones. 

Kids return to the rhythm of school as moms put away their swimsuits, and life returns to normal, which means cold. Cooler, really, and we wonder how many warm days are left. We’ve already had a few of those long-sleeve shirt days, but last week has been an unexpected joy.

Technically, the last day of summer was September 21, which was rainy and windy, with temperatures in the mid-70s. But this year, I’m claiming Sunday, September 14. The weather was lovely, with clear skies and a gentle wind. The high was 84. After church, we sat on the porch, sipping a good Darjeeling tea with the faint floral scent of a spring meadow.

Our walnut trees are just beginning to lose their leaves, and now and then we hear the thump as one of the walnuts falls to the ground. We feel the warmth of the porch boards beneath our feet, a barn cat stretching out in a patch of sunlight nearby. I could easily forget the upcoming winds of winter, and I did.

Since we moved here 42 years ago, I’ve known such days to come as late as Thanksgiving, but that’s rare. And even a nice day no longer counts as summer, as the leaves turn red and orange. There is no value in denying reality. We will start pulling out sweaters, then jackets, and finally coats, although this year it looks like we may be wearing T-shirts a few days in October.

As a Floridian, I still marvel at the frenetic northern cycle of playing hard for a couple of months and then packing things away, bracing for months of cold. Where I come from, the summer is endless, and we never have to put the dock away. So, I treasure early autumn days on the porch, the leaves still green, the sky still blue, the clouds still white. And I’ll treasure them more next spring, after weeks of grey skies and brown earth.

Henry David Thoreau, who managed to find beauty on a frozen pond, once said, “One must maintain a little bit of summer, even in the middle of winter.” He didn’t, as far as I know, say how to do it. How does one maintain a little summer on a winter day? How do you?

Katie and I will find pockets of light for morning tea and bring out some candles by November. We will be grateful for abundance and ease, of which summer is a sign. We will take walks when we can. When the wind is mild and the sky is clear, we will bundle up and go outside, thankful for the fragments of sunshine.

After all, real warmth is relational, and joy is not seasonal. Perhaps autumn’s task is to show us how to carry warmth into colder days — not only in candles and coats, but in gratitude and love. Each of us must find our own way of keeping summer alive — in a walk, a candle, or a shared cup of tea. In the end, the seasons turn, but joy is ours to nurture.

---

How do you maintain a little bit of summer?