August is complicated

Jill Severn

By August first, those buzzkill ads for back-to-school supplies were already everywhere — a sure sign that summer is on the downslope.  

By now, sunsets are becoming noticeably earlier. Unwatered grass has faded from green to brown. Native oso berry bushes are suddenly speckled with yellow leaves, another harbinger of fall. (Those leaves sprang to life early in February, with bright green buds that called spring into session. We shouldn’t begrudge them an early retirement.) 

Summer-loving people would have liked another couple of weeks of July — that period when high summer felt deliciously endless. What a wonderful illusion that was. 

Now people are already talking about Labor Day weekend. 

Here’s another downer: Summer doesn’t mean what it used to. First there’s climate change. We’ve been lucky so far this year. It’s hotter and drier, for sure, but not catastrophically so. But when we see news of the extreme floods, droughts and heat elsewhere, we shudder in fear of the future summers we know are on the way. 

Second, schools have mostly given up on the farm-driven schedule that let kids out for three months of summer, originally so they could help grow their family’s food. Now school vacations are all over the calendar. This is a big psychic shift about the meaning of summer, and an even bigger loss of common knowledge about where food comes from, and how many natural miracles and how much human labor are involved in its production. 

These shifts both present big, systemic challenges. Even more fundamental is the inevitable sense of time slipping away, of the year growing older — and soon colder. And then over. Mortality just won’t leave us alone. 

But the end of that line of thinking is this: Life is precious. Summer especially so. I’m pretty sure the phrase "carpe diem" was first spoken in August. 

This month brings gifts of ripe tomatoes and fresh local corn and blueberries. The harvest season has just begun. Beaches beckon. We should wallow in August warmth and abundance. 

Tomatoes are glorious. Whether you grow your own or buy them from local farmers, August is their high season. And with every passing year, there are more varieties of tomatoes — especially heirlooms — to try.  

Few if any gardeners have space to grow them all, but it would be nice to have a chance to find out which we like best. Most farmers markets and grocery stores are no help; there’s just a pile called “heirloom tomatoes,” with no clues as to which is Cherokee Purple, Brandywine, Black Krim, Paul Robeson, Perth Pride, Missouri Pink Pride, Hillbilly, Woodle Orange, Sunray Green Zebra, Striped Cavern, Abraham Lincoln, African Queen ... this list could go on for an hour. So many tomatoes, so little time. And you have to wonder about an allegedly heirloom tomato called “Berkeley Tie-dye Pink.” Whose grandparents grew that one? 

August isn’t usually thought of as a high point of the year for roses, but that’s only because we aren’t paying attention. I recently visited a woman whose garden was so full of blooming roses I wished I had more time and more eyes. And really, even a rose bush with three blooms can yield as intense an experience of beauty as one with 30. 

After visiting her garden, I was glad to learn that our nation’s president didn’t dig up any roses when he had the White House Rose Garden lawn paved over. All the roses are still there, and many are probably still blooming — a welcome reminder that not all the news is as bad as it seems. 

It’s impossible to hold on to summer, but sometimes the passage of time — even when it means more darkness — is welcomed with open arms. It is, after all, shortening the time until our next spring, and our next national election.  

Jill Severn writes from her home in Olympia, where she grows vegetables, flowers, and a small flock of chickens. She loves conversation among gardeners. Start one by emailing her at  jill@theJOLTnews.com.