Summertime offers a different rhythm. Days are longer, sunlight stretches late into the night, and if we make ourselves available, this is the season for stories.
It begins with a familiar phrase: "Did I ever tell you about ..." or "Let me tell you about the time ..." When you hear that, especially if you're part of a younger generation, please don't look for the quickest way out of the room or pretend not to hear the invitation to share stories.
The heat helps us warm up to stories. We sit around on these dog days of summer; move slow during lazy evenings with sweat still drying on our backs. We gather out in the yard, under a shade tree or in front of the house, on the lawn or on the front porch.
Sit and talk time. Story traditions are born out of a need for entertainment, sometimes out of boredom; others call it family time to listen to each other. We barbecue slowly, with exchanges in between cool drinks. We swim to cool down, not for exercise, lean against the side of the pool or dangle feet in the cool liquid, and fill the silence with talk.
I remember planting myself in front of an old swamp cooler, a fan that sucks air in from a metal box with fiber pads that, when wet, add a little humidity and coolness to the dry summer evening heat. Swamp coolers became a favorite gathering spot, family and friends collecting to get a little respite. Inevitably someone would start a story.
The weather becomes a popular subject. We trade stories about the heat spells and record-breaking heat waves. Could you really fry an egg on an asphalt road in 110-degree heat?
Then we argue over which is worse, our dry heat of 105 degrees with low humidity or temperatures in the 90s with high humidity. In recent years, even a new environmental perspective has been added -- could our severe weather be related to global warming?
What better season for such intellectual debates than summer time? We could end any discussion in agreement: "Well, all I know is that it's hot!" Then comes a pause with everyone nodding their heads, a perfect time for the panting of a family dog to punctuate the silence.
Our long hot summers become fodder for songs and music. This has to be the source of the blues and the emotions of the moment. Working folks lament laboring in the sun in the heat, chant a tome about the toll it takes on your body and soul. Valley Blues -- work songs, field hollers, shouts and chants, call and response patterns of lyrics -- all based on our summers and a story of human drama.
Country music has ballads flush with summer stories. Common folk paying homage to their small town life, their land and work, their country and God -- all mixed with pick up trucks and blue collar jobs, bars and beer and an occasionally fight, and of course country boys and girls and broken hearts and bad relationships.
For some, summer means reading lists of books you may not ordinarily seek out. Mysteries, fantasies, romances help entertain us.
The summer heat seems to melt away inhibitions; we allow ourselves to wander and enjoy simple stories, like summer movies, we read to escape. Getting lost in a book is like going to a theater to evade the heat for a few hours. You come out the same, but refreshed with a grin on your face.
Of course, for many, summer love fills the long days and sweaty nights. Romance seems to pulsate in the still air, temperatures rise with heart beats and hormones, boy meets girl, girl meets boy, partners connect with partners.
Some summers lend themselves to heated affairs, fleeting and mostly innocent passions of the heart. For the youth, this in-between season gives license for hookups, both parties knowing it probably won't last and things will turn cruel by the end of August, broken hearts mixed with a few fulfilled fantasies. (If it weren't for my farm work, I'd be writing wildly successful and trashy romances and country music songs.)
Summer for farm folks also means harvest time and hard, physical work. We have daily crises that often happen at the hottest time of the day, stress and worry over bringing in a crop or market prices or workers who don't show up (related, I believe, to summer blues, summer drinking and summer love).
We understand the seriousness of the season, but also know that in the end, nature dictates the rhythms with weather we can't control. So we work 15-hour days, accomplish much with more to do, take some pride in getting two days of work done in one (as compared with the short days of winter). And if we're lucky, every once in awhile we pause, have a refreshing drink and celebrate the moment.
The trick to summer stories is not to take yourself too seriously. Instead, we are serious about taking it easy.
Summer stories tell a lot about who we are and what we can be. These are laments of regret, conversations of home, ballads about hopes and dreams. Tales to pass the time.
And at the end of summer, we collect another volume of stories.
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