Summer’s Embarrassment of Riches

“That was a good meal,” he says, leaning back in the creaky wooden chair. He inhales carefully, as if his belly is so full that even breathing in could cause him to burst.

This is a hazy memory I have, from a scene in my childhood. I can’t remember if it was a church potluck or around the family Thanksgiving table, but for some reason, that sigh of contentment, that feeling of attempting to straighten the abdomen by stretching like a wooden board, completing the isosceles triangle with the dining chair, sticks in my mind. I still hear the unbuckling of the belt, only loosening it a bit to allow the food to digest and settle. The way, after a good meal, the conversation slows until a comfortable silence takes over. This is especially true at a meal that offers an embarrassment of riches, so much food that you can’t bear to say no to any of it and now you’ve stuffed yourself so full you can hardly speak.

This is the image I get as summer winds down, as I desperately search for a few more stray crumbs of enjoyment to gobble down before the cooler weather moves in. Even though adulthood demands that I work during the summer months, I’m still hardwired to think of summer as vacation. Summer is longer hours of daylight and dining al fresco and sitting on the porch. It’s listening to live bands in the park, lazy evenings under the stadium lights at a ballpark and laughing under large umbrellas with friends.

Summer itself is an embarrassment of riches. There is an overabundance of street festivals, outdoor concerts, and places to be. Gardens over-produce tomatoes and cucumbers and zucchinis, so that neighbors give away the extras to their non-gardener friends and coworkers. End of summer is the season of gazpacho and zucchini bread, a final attempt to capture the flavors of summer by using up all the riches of the season and not letting them go to waste. At a point in mid-winter, we’ll be eating a pale, flavorless, underripe tomato from the grocery store, but if we try, we can close our eyes and conjure the warmth of the vine-ripened tomatoes of summer. 

In June, the entire summer stretches before you like a gleaming street of gold, but by the end of August, a bit of desperation sets in. Did I do enough? Will my summer exploits hold me over until next year, when the gleaming gold of a promised summer begins again?

The season of red flannel and pumpkin spice and crunchy leaves underfoot is fast approaching. I should be anticipating it, but I can’t help but glance backward, too. I’m a squirrel gathering acorns for the winter, stuffing my cheeks to their limit so I can store up enough sun-drenched memories to make it through.

---

---