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Happy August

Happy August. I think August is one of my favorite months. October is by far my favorite. I like May, too. I like…the dead of winter. Mid-Jan through Mid Feb. Shoulder seasons are my favorite corners of the year. I like August a lot, though. Hot, sloggy, muggy days, scorching and dripping. But towards the end of the month, the nights get cool. Almost too cool. Summer’s battery is starting to run out. Yes, I like August. Maybe I like mid-August through mid-September. We shall have to pay close attention and see.

Lately I’ve wanted to watch On Golden Pond. It seems like a good August movie. Laziness on the lake, chock full of unexpected adventure. My golden pond is a woody pasture in various stages of succession. Sunset making the goldenrods glow, the final fireflies from July popping off like lightbulbs. Fog settles over it every August evening, the humidity tucking in for bed.

Maybe a good spooky novel on the back porch at dusk is what I need. I haven’t followed baseball in years but I find myself craving the Sox on nights like this. Joe Castiglione’s voice over the darkness. I can see the Fenway lights through it. Hours-long power outages after tempest-like t-storms. Summer mood. Nostalgia. But there's always a hint of horror. Maybe it's all that Stephen King I read in my youth; maybe it's cos I'm a farmer and all I can think about is defending my critters to the death. There's stuff in the woods, there's stuff in the garden. The voles tunnel under the lettuce, the bears are in the treeline, the squash bugs lay eggs under the leaves like tiny aliens plotting to take over the earth. Nature is at its fullest right now, its peak. Before it all comes crashing down in just a few weeks.

Early morning coolness, a little humidity before it’s cranked up to a hundred, while I’m pacing out the AM farm chores. It's refreshing but ominous. Will it rain today? Will it bake today? Might need to change my shirt before work, though. I’m already sticky. I let the sheep out and make sure their water is full. They hardly ever drink it, though. Sheep aren't worried about a little sunshine.

When I get to the shop, I open all the garage doors to release yesterday’s trapped, stagnant heat. But by noon I’m heading outside to feel the sun crisp up my skin – a respite from the artificial, arctic air conditioning. A hike through the cool Sandwich wilderness and a dip in the brook are already on my mind.


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