Western Washington's payoff months

Kirk Ericson | May 26, 20220

File photo by Matt Baide count

Park goers sit in the shade as the sun shines down on Potlatch State Park and Hood Canal last summer.

"Summer, summer, summer,

It's like a merry-go-round - Magic."

-The Cars

Summer is the season we residents west of the Cascades have earned. Winter is the slog. Summer is the song.

The sun shines and we are better. In summer, we take the crooked path to where we're going. It's the season of youth, the season that makes us forget we'll die someday.

Summer begs us to leave the house and pretend we can sing and dance well. Work might wait, but the sun can't, not on this side of the mountains.

Summer is the season that knocks on your front door and asks you to come out and play. Summer is the season that smiles. It's the season that flirts in no shirts and short skirts.

It's the season of wet shorts and high expectations. People speak louder and express themselves with more confidence. We stop and talk and swing our arms when we walk. We hold our heads high and try to work the kinks out of our gait. We're not burdened by rain in our face or ice in our marrow.

The chorus of birds is summer's soundtrack, and crows on wires and gulls on roofs have front-row seats to the symphony. Robins bounce over grass, alert for sound and vibration. Hummingbirds vibrate, goldfinches dart and swoop, a blur of yellow, and stellar's jays preen in royal blue robes.

Babies came out for strolls in their carriages, pushed by dads who know in their warm bones they're doing what's best for both of them. The babies look for objects they recognize, but they're overwhelmed by green trees and blue skies. Colors invade babies in summer. The colors of this season will be their earliest forgotten memory.

People meet other people's faces in summer. We want to share the sensation of the day, the arc of the sun, the warmth that's bathing our skin.

You hear music more in summer. Bands take to parks and people perch on front stoops playing or listening to music. Some nod and smile as you pass. Music spills from open car windows, open apartment windows and open doors. People dance more in summer. In summer, we are more tolerant of other people expressing the joy of existence.

Summer is the season that presents nature's candy. Blueberries, raspberries, strawberries and their cousins fulfill their purpose in summer. They sequence their appearance so they don't intrude on the other. Berries are polite. They only wish to be picked.

We seek water in summer. Sometimes we splash like bluebirds in birdbaths. We raft on rivers, float on lakes, boat on oceans and dangle toes in creeks. It's the season when bodies of water exact their most terrible toll on the foolhardy, the unlucky. The death of a young one in summer compounds our grief.

It's the season for beer on the beach, wine around the backyard table, gin and tonic on a deck, whiskey shots in the woods, and rum anywhere. Alcohol makes us rummier in summer. We're less apologetic about our intoxication, too.

And when it rains in summer for more than two straight days, we feel cheated, as though the fates are punishing us for a very unfair and very unfathomable reason.