My hometown doesn't have a stoplight. There are no fast food restaurants or chain grocery stores — just open fields, a lake and plenty of time to kill.
As soon as the final bell rang on the last day of school, the town was immediately overrun with sticky, overexcited children looking to make the most of summer vacation. We ran out of the school's front doors with the ferocity of lions.
We biked around Medical Lake daily, walked the length of the town four times over and stayed out past our bedtimes trying to squeeze every last second of the seemingly never-setting summer sun's warmth out of the day.
The allure of summer quickly faded once I graduated high school. Gone were the days of running around town with friends, our feet hitting miles of hot pavement and our shoulders blushing red by day's end.
Instead of promising relaxation and time away from life's stressors, summer now came with newfound responsibility and chasing the perfect start to adulthood.
Rather than reading a book a day, playing four square in the driveway or playing with Pokémon cards on my front porch, I was taking rigorous college classes and working long hours at an exhausting job. The sun had set on carefree summers.
The heat was overwhelming, the sun was too bright, and my love for summer had vanished — now just another season in life.
I spent time indoors, reveling in the respite from the heat and cherishing my alone time, but felt like I was letting down my childhood self by wasting precious time. I searched for ways to rekindle my love for my past passions.
I picked up golf again. Long gone were the days of high school tournaments and posting halfway decent scores, but as an adult, I was able to appreciate being out in nature. Every errant shot was an excuse to take a short walk, admire the beauty of verdant grass, native plants and the fresh Inland Northwest air.
Instead of reading a book on the couch, I drove to Finch Arboretum and sat under the shade of the ginkgo trees while I flipped pages. The hum of the air conditioner was replaced by rustling leaves and a babbling creek. The trees' fan-shaped leaves would often fall onto the pages of my open book, a reminder that I was alone, yes, but in the right place at the right time.
Summer as an adult still comes with responsibility, but it also comes with new priorities. It took me a few years to figure it out, but I no longer dread the warm breeze that comes in early May, signaling the changing of the seasons. In fact, I now dread the changing of the leaves in late September, signaling the end of my summer well-spent. ♦
