It has been tough but I admit I prefer it to freezing temps and frozen precipitation. I suppose it is because I relate back to my youth. In the winter you were allowed out to go to school, church and work. In the summer, when school was out, My Mother basically said, "get out of my house, don't get into trouble, and come when I call". The holy trinity of summer rules.
I remember riding bicycles in the early mornings. Some times I was sent to the post office, or the grocery, but the most cherished rides were to the plum thicket or to the creek to cool off. Afternoons were reserved for my paper route, baseball practice or the rare trip to the greatly undersized and over used public swimming pool. That is, if I was through with the paper route, cutting grass, (that's mowing lawns to you folk north of the Mason Dixon line) and no one else in the area need me for manual labor.
Oh, but when the afternoons gave way to thunder storms or the occasional gentle tropical summer rain shower the routine had to be interrupted for the ever polarizing mud ball fights. We couldn't afford water balloons so we just threw freshly packed mud balls. Some contained the occasional rock hidden in the center. Purely accidental, of course.
Double click for full screen.Recent thunder storms left the heavy feel of summer steam near the Ross Barnett Reservoir.
The rains passed as quickly as they came and yielded to the blistering sun that baked the earth and made the steam rise. I remember inhaling the steam and the feel of the moisture as it entered the lungs and the ever so sweet ozone of natures perfume from the fresh aroma of honey suckle,magnolia, mimosa, plum, pear, and apple trees that seemed to be every where. Not to mention the smell of the fresh vegetable blossoms in every garden and truck patch in the county that were always within reach of our noses.
Double click for full screen.The sweet perfume of this magnolia was quite the welcome sign of summer in our back yard.
Summer sunsets were always spectacular, giving way to starry evenings that were brightened by the lights of the little league baseball field and the sound of the families cheering with the crack of the wooden bat. On the nights when there were no scheduled games, the stars were the field lights over the pasture or back yard where we played blooper ball. (sometimes called whiffle ball, but always played with a plastic bat and ball on a make shift field using trees, towels, posts, flower gardens or what ever we could find for bases, or what ever fell into the geometric pattern of the diamond of a baseball field. Yankee stadium or Camden Yard had nothing on our imaginations. After the major league games on television they would have firework displays, after our blooper ball games, we had lightning bugs to put on their light show. Lightning bugs........that would be fire flies to those culturally deprived of Southern Living.
Double click for full screen.This nest of Cardinal hatching's near our deck, were quick to open wide to the slightest sound.
Finding a bird nest was always a summer treat. Watching the adults flutter around with twigs and sprigs of grass to build the brooding abode always drew our attention. We would make mental notes of the locations and follow the progress all summer. From eggs, to hatching's to big mouths open wide when the parents lit on the limb adjacent the nest to feed the ungrateful little chippers to the day when the young feathered noise makers attempted their first flights. We often stood yard guard to keep the dogs and cats from feeding on their inept attempts to fly.
Climbing trees to get a better view of the country side, or hide from your buddies during a game of day or, when the parents were watching, night hide and seek, without flashlights. Only sissies needed lights. Bruises, scratches and cuts or any other injuries gained as a result of poor visibility, were worn like badges of honor. Crying from injuries was overlooked, but ONLY if the injury resulted in a bandage. Otherwise you were ostracized by being the last one picked the next time teams were selected for what ever game we were playing.
Summers were great. It's a wonder we survived them. I'm sure glad we did. I'm even happier that they held such beauty and wonder..........and memories.
