Summer of my discontent

My clever cousin, Sheri, wrote on Facebook last week, “Lots of wide open water on the neighborhood lake late afternoon today. And to think I saw someone ice fishing on a local lake last weekend... They're dead now, of course....”

I laughed when I read it (and it won’t help if I have to explain why). The weather has changed so fast that I can imagine skiers stuck on chair lifts above grassy slopes and skaters swimming back to the warming house. I like change, but I prefer that the four seasons follow a pattern and that all four get their due.

We normally get about six months of winter weather in Minnesota, with the other three seasons scrambling to split-up the remaining six months. However, this year winter, at least for now, has ended about six weeks early (somebody get the groundhog on the phone . . .). The calendar says it’s still winter, but eighty degrees yells, “Summer.” Winter never really had a chance this year and this last week seems like we skipped spring. As unpopular as this may sound, I don’t really want my summers six months long.

My reasons have nothing to do with the pleasant conditions we’re experiencing, it goes deeper. First off, I would hate to think that the global warming/climate change people may be right. If this keeps up we may have 140 degrees in the shade in August. Nobody likes that.

Secondly, this kind of season skipping activity goes against the natural order of things: There are certain steps that must be followed, there are no shortcuts to success, you don’t spend your way out of debt, you learn to walk before you run, one thing leads to another, you don’t get to Carnegie hall without practice, you don’t get to the top without a lot of hard work, and spring – not summer – follows winter.

Everything needs a turn and there is a time for everything. The Byrds made popular a song written by Pete Seeger with lyrics taken from the Biblical book of Ecclesiates.

There is a time for everything,
and a season for every activity under the heavens:
a time to be born and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to uproot,
a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear down and a time to build,
a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance,
a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,
a time to search and a time to give up,
a time to keep and a time to throw away,
a time to tear and a time to mend,
a time to be silent and a time to speak,
a time to love and a time to hate,
a time for war and a time for peace.

If you skimmed those lyrics because you think you know them well please read them again, as there is wisdom in those words. Since there is a time for everything, I conclude that timing is indeed everything.

Dad said, “You have to pay your dues.” The warm weather is here and I greet it with guarded happiness because the timing is off and we haven’t yet paid for it.

I like long winters and long winter naps; I like the snow and the way it drifts along the road; I like the first gasp of cold air in the morning; I like reading by the fire, quilts and candle light.

It’s over now and I lament its passing, along with those poor fishermen.