Friday, August 26, 2005

The Last Morning of Summer

My kids and I took a longish bike ride on the last morning of their summer vacation.  I like to follow behind them so I can see how their riding skills are coming along, and after awhile they usually get to talking as though I’m not even there.  During this ride they pondered the topic of autumn.  Since it was the last day of summer vacation, did that mean that tomorrow was autumn?  Did autumn begin on a certain date in September? Maybe autumn started when all the leaves fell? Maybe you knew it was autumn by the smell in the air?  They reached no firm conclusion, but they did agree that on this particular morning, the last morning of summer vacation, as we biked along the river, the air smelled half of summer and half of autumn.

We had been feeling the urgency for more than a week.  We worked extra outings and social events into the final days of summer, hoping to make the best of this dwindling and precious resource. We let ourselves be pounded by the waves at Silver Beach.  We held candles in a peace march and cheered when passers-by waved their approval.  We idled happily in the bookstore.

We even stayed up way past bedtime watching the final episode of The Lord of the Rings while sitting in lawn chairs under the stars at Notre Dame. There on a big outdoor screen, good and beauty triumphed over evil and ugliness, at great length and in incredible detail.  The screams of the defeated Orcs and the clatter of their fallen weapons echoed from the nearby campus buildings. Thinking the movie was now over, I started to rise from my chair, but there was still a king to be crowned, and the Hobbits needed to have a beer together back home in the Shire, and Frodo wanted to finish writing his memoir, and some of the heroes decided to sail away forever from Middle Earth.  For a time The Lord of the Rings, like summer, seemed as though it would never end.

We also checked out the giant bug sculptures at Fernwood on a day when a couple of us had wanted to make other plans.  Luckily, a snapping turtle swam our way across the pond, with an algae-robed shell the size of a dinner plate, and all our grumpiness evaporated. That turtle moved through the water so slowly, like summer, and the bluegills quietly slid aside for him.

The occasional grumpiness of the last week of summer vacation is one clue that it’s time to get back to learning.  I saw another clue on Sunday when I walked the dog along a nice wide path through the woods at the edge of one of our area’s beautiful college campuses.  The dog and I came upon two coeds standing still there on the path.  One was trying the cell phone, and the other turned to me and said, “We’re afraid of the deer. They were looking at us.” Sure enough, just off the path in the woods, well cloaked by the leaves, were two does and a fawn.  The young women calmed down, though, when they realized that they could walk beside my valiant dog until we reached a more civilized part of campus.  Pedant that I am, I took a moment to teach them the word herbivore, and then we parted. Yes, I thought, it’s time to throw open the doors of all the schools.

On the last morning of summer vacation, the bike ride included an unscheduled stop for lunch at a noodle restaurant, where our vegetarian child was tempted by the skewers of roasted chicken I had ordered.  Though she sees vegetarianism as an ethical issue, she occasionally takes a day off and has some chicken, but not without a touch of guilt. “Don’t worry,” her kid sister told her, “the last day of summer doesn’t go on your permanent record.”

Broadcast by Ken Smith on August 26, 2005
Books & Films • Education • Family & Friends • Permalink • Printer Friendly
Google
WWW Michiana Chronicles