In summertime the heat that sweeps me up in a warm hug the instant I cross the threshold pulling the door tightly closed behind me to trap the costly coolness inside, reminds me of that lovely simile in the passage above: "like soft teacakes with frostings of sweat and sweet talcum." Here the heat softens as it warms, moist air dampening hair and clothing and skin. It is my first summer in Maryland, and although I can understand and share with many in giving "oppressive" as the descriptor of choice for warmth that radiates off of asphalt and car roofs, sometimes it comes across to me as an over-exuberant child who you can't help but smile at even as you wish his parents had not allowed him that second scoop of ice cream.
My willingness to welcome and indulge summer is dependent on the sure escape I have in my air-conditioned apartment. When that was threatened this last weekend, I was feeling a great deal less annoyingly appreciative of 95 degree days. The storm (which I have recently learned was officially called a Derecho: "a widespread, long-lived wind storm that is associated with a band of rapidly moving showers or thunderstorms." Thank you NPR) that hit a huge swath of the US, putting almost 4 million people out of power, also hit hard here. At its height I looked outside and the trees behind the parking lot at my apartment reminded me of CS Lewis's description of Lucy's experience with trees that Aslan was in the process of awakening in Prince Caspian. They looked like they were dancing. Unfortunately outside of a fantasy world it can cause problems when trees attempt to be mobile. Thankfully neither my roommate nor I had any car or apartment damage due to falling trees or branches, but we were out of power along with hundred of thousands of other people in the Maryland/DC area.
Friday night Hannah and I decided if we couldn't watch the Olympic trials we were still going to have a good night so we lit candles, got out our flashlights, played scrabble, and tried to ignore the rising temperature in the apartment. Saturday was unpleasant as we searched for ice to save freezer and fridge food, witnessed a run on gas stations, and learned the possibility that we would be out of power for up to a week. However, in the wee hours of the morning on Sunday, I rolled over in bed and heard the sound of our air conditioning kicking on and such a lovely sound it was. Many people are still without power and large numbers of traffic lights along busy roads are still not functioning, reminding me how tenuous and illusory our control over our environment really is.
This lesson was further hammered home when I learned that my family's vacation cabin in the foothills of Laramie Peak near Wheatland, Wyoming had burned down in one of this weekend's forest fires that are still devastating the west. Thankfully everyone had been evacuated in time so there were no casualties apart from the buildings, but I've still been mourning the loss of one of my favorite places. An earlier blog post of mine had incorporated photos taken at and around this cabin with a poem by Robert Penn Warren. I'm grateful to have the memories and that I have, and am looking forward to seeing what Phoenix will rise.
Just prior to this incident I had been vacationing with my family in the cool weather of Michigan's Upper Peninsula, where a warm summer day settles in the upper 70s. Apart from biting flies it was a delightful vacation and I enjoyed hiking and kayaking in the fresh, almost untainted forests and water. I'll include some pictures below. It was a lovely location, but everywhere people who make that their home smiled at tourists and warned us of the danger of winters and the extreme conditions they faced living so remotely year-round.
Given the instability of the last few days I was complaining to Jake that sometimes life felt like building a tower out of blocks for a toddler to knock down. To which he replied, "so build your tower closer to the ground." And there is certainly some wisdom in his 2nd law of thermodynamics inspired answer. Having a diverse spread of interests and investments--emotional and financial--can soften some of life's blows. But even then there is no guarantee or insurance in such precautions, since toddlers also like to kick apart as well as knock down. At times like this Ecclesiastes provides the solace of shared frustration: "I have seen the burden God has laid on men. He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the hearts of men; yet they cannot fathom what God has done from beginning to end."
I would like to end like I have before with a book review. While on my vacation I finished reading Out Stealing Horses by Per Petterson translated by Anne Born. It is a poignant Bildungsroman story told as a series of flashbacks by a man in his sixties who by reliving a difficult summer in his youth seems to be completing his coming of age. The prose is as beautiful as the setting: remote eastern Norway; the characters complex and complete (even down to the dog). There are echos to me of Thoreau, but the romanticism is balanced with a realistic edge--not bitter but harsh--that sees the limits of the human life, its depth and span. While there are glimmers of redemption throughout the book, the ending left me sad and pensive wondering if there are some gulfs in life that we never get the chance to bridge. Just as Lee's opening to To Kill a Mockingbird comes to mind every summer, so the beginning to this book I think will come to mind when I contemplate the passage of time:
"Time is important to me now, I tell myself. Not that it should pass quickly or slowly, but be only time, be something I live inside and fill with physical things and activities that I can divide it up by, so that it grows distinct to me and does not vanish when I am not looking." ~Per Petterson Out Stealing Horses
