The Worst Wonderful Time of the Year

I love summer as much as the next season-loving grown up. I love the trees and the flowers and the grass, all flushed with sunlight. I love the beach at night and bonfires and camping. I love making iced tea and getting fresh fruit from the farmers' market. I love sleeping with the window open, and picnics, and the squalls of children running wild and free. But I could do away with the rest of summer--obnoxiously peppy music, girls (or women) not wearing enough clothing, the heat, the humidity, the inappropriate volume of hair my dog sheds each day, and the "air pollution level" warnings, More than anything, though, I hate that in the summer each person seems to be screaming, "YOLO!" as they flounce around in swimsuits smaller than napkins with cocktails in one hand and smart phones in the other. 

The summer mentality is, "Live for the moment." This is a great mentality... but I'm usually over it in exactly one moment. I'm not a square, or a fuddy-duddy, and it has nothing to do with being introverted. I just prefer to live without the expectation that everything will be sunny and impressive and fun for an entire three months.

I am the sort of person who wakes up mid-October, notices that summer's splendor is gone, and am shamelessly grateful. Summer and it's shallow mindset is gone. The sunset of the year is upon us, during which my soul sighs and I can enjoy things simply because they are beautiful, not because the sun is shining and I have to fit in all the fun before it goes down.

 My husband and I practically melt into the sidewalk each time we step outside, taking it all in. I am constantly in love, with every tree burst into orange flame, with every watercolor leaf on the ground (which I enthusiastically crunch beneath my feet.) The mornings and evenings are both their own variation of crisp. The smells, more than anything, send us reeling. Apple cider. Pumpkin pie. Frosted dry grass. The scent of the burning dust as the heater comes humming to life. 

But it is also in this season I begin to truly miss home. Autumn in the Midwest is so much different from Washington. In Illinois, the weather can go from 80°F to 45°F in just one day. An Indian summer might last until mid-November, and then it will snow. There are few evergreens here, so the trees are brilliantly colored. In Washington, the colorful trees are more noticeable, because they are so few. It rains, but the temperature is much steadier and there is no humidity. People are much more keen to light fires in their backyard or burn leaves. 

They are different, and I love both places. But that's why it's hard. I have come to accept that I'm here, and have been here for three years, and might be here even longer. And yet I miss home, more and more every day. And every time I go into a grocery story, or a craft store, or just walk down the street, everything reminds me of home. I know that somewhere else in the world there's a Starbucks sitting in the rain, just a couple miles from the ocean, and inside the Starbucks no one is griping about the Dan-Ryan or $45 city stickers or the smog. The world is simpler, with mountains as a backdrop, and evergreens growing out of sidewalk cracks, and nobody carries an umbrella. 

Year after year, I rediscover, it's my favorite season to miss home.