Season ends when I say so
The calendar on my fridge door says that summer is almost over. Even as I wander around in shorts and bare soles, languishing in the room temperatures outside, I accept the steady progress of the seasons. But, the end of summer is when I say it is, OK?
Actually, there’s a better way to tell. The seasonal restaurants are entering hibernation mode. Many, already shuttered. This evening, we went out for what will be the last feed of fish and chips until spring, since Rick’s is due to close at the end of the week.
The place wasn’t empty, but that hustle and bustle of peak tourist season was absent. No wait for a table. No (long) wait for food. And when we headed back along the north side, there was no traffic. At all. Not even wee beasties crossing the road in a perilous manner.
There’s “a kind of a hush, all over the land”; with the departure of the seasonal residents, I’ll have to commit to snow tires and boots. This will be the first year we have the responsibility of “turning over the garden”. Not sure what that means, but I’ll ask, before doing something crazy like killing the perennials. Do I have to pull bulbs? Flower, not light…
Still unsure if we have any travel plans over the next few weeks. Even though we have the freedom, we lack the ambition; there’s comfort in home and all that goes with it. Maybe I should let the family know that summer rates are still in place, but the takeout food might be difficult to come by.
