I woke up this morning to the smells of woodsmoke and pregnant rain, two of my favorite smells in the whole world and two of the perks of living in the great Pacific Northwest. Those two smells together are a sure sign that fall is here. Fall is my favorite season bar none, and it is here. The signs of it are everywhere. Leaves are beginning to turn. The clouds have rolled back in. I have my first subbing job next Friday. Halloween candy has been in the stores for a month and a half now. Fall is here with a vengence.
The thing is, this year it really does feel like a vengeance. We had five weeks of summer at most, and that includes the two days in June and two days in July when the temperature maybe almost crested 79 degrees. Our neighbors were burning that woodstove that woke me up this morning well into June this year. That's unusual even for us. We may have long, dreary winters, but we can usually boast about our springs and our summers. They're not hot, but they are beautiful.
Happy as I am to break out the soup pot and the sweaters again, I can't help but feel gypped. The turn of the seasons is supposed to be a relief. There's a certain satisfaction in being so tired of the heat that one relishes the chill, so sick of the rain that one welcomes the snow. We didn't really have that this year. Summer was so late that it really seemed like it was barely here. As far as our vitamin D absorption goes, we're all still in the middle of July. Everyone I talk to would welcome a few more weeks of sunshine. We boosted our spirits during the lagging spring by dreaming of a glorious Indian summer. Not so much.
I don't think I would mind as much if we had gotten to do more. I was pining for a camping trip on the Olympic Peninsula, and since we might be moving when Seth finds a new job, this might have been our last opportunity to go, at least conveniently. Ferry rides are always better in sunshine. Farmers markets are no fun in the rain. Rainy beaches are parr for the course around here, but a mid-September sunny day can make up for a lot gloom.
But the weather isn't something we can sway, and if we accept the fact that this is the second half of September instead of merely the sixth week of summer, then we're right on course. The rain was bad for the cherries, the strawberries, the peaches, and the apricots, but the blackberries were the biggest I've ever seen. That's something.
Postscript: Three days later, I guess that instead of grumbling about the weather, some noble person actually approached the throne of grace and said, "Lord, could we please have another couple weeks of summer?" Asking nicely goes a lot farther than whining, especially with our heavenly Father. Seth is actually grilling tonight. That's how nice our weather is.
