I’ve been watching True Blood, the first series. I’m a bit behind the curve in terms of both time and cool factor so have only just gotten into the series. I enjoy it although am tiring of this whole shrieking female needs constant saving by true love-y lusty man who cannot be in the sunlight, but it’s got my attention.
There’s a part to the show that I look forward to, that I relate to.
There’s a part of the show that I miss.
That part is the heat waves of summertime in the South.
When I lived in the US I lived all over the place, courtesy of a childhood as the daughter of an Air Force pilot. With the exception of 8 years of my life in Washington State and Colorado, I spent my entire childhood, teen, and early adult years in the southern Midwest and the south. In some parts of my early years I was in the deep south, the land of collard greens and barbecues and summers so hot you’d melt.
I live in England now, a country which summer has only just woken up and rubbed its eyes in, realizing that it overslept and it’s time to get the heat on. The past weekend we were in sweaters and jeans it was so chilly. I love living here, if given the choice of a sunny browned out Texas Christmas or a cozy overcast and freezing cold English Christmas, I’ll take this side of the Atlantic, thanks. I get to enjoy lush explosions of Autumn colors and my allergies endure the lime green of psychedelic Springs, but it’s summer that has me nostalgic. It’s ironic, in that bittersweet way – I was so keen to get away from those hot, hot summers and now I miss them so much I can close my eyes and think of them with no small amount of gratitude.
I remember the heat rising off the pavement in waves you could almost touch. I remember the screen doors on slamming shut, the small mesh of the screens bending over time and getting flakes of rust in their corners. I remember the sound they made closing, a kind of metallic clash that reverberated when the door wouldn’t shut properly because they never did. The feel of feet brushing along on the hot tarmac, where you’d step with the top of your feet and then rub your feet along in the grass, the cool to the heat.
If you had to go somewhere you edged carefully onto the seat as it’d be so hot. If you were unlucky and had no air conditioning then chances are you’d left the windows open “to let the heat out”, you’d say, as though it had option for escaping. You’d make sure you’d park under a tree when you got to where you were going, just so you could get some shade on the steering wheel, the dash, the seat.
I remember sun tea jars on porches, the Lipton squares dangling from the top like a veil. Later in the day it would be lemonade in a glass with sweat droplets that you’d hold to your face, your neck, your chin and would simultaneously shiver from and love any errant drops that fell onto your chest. Crickets would be singing the afternoon away, their legs possibly the only motion that anyone could bear. The air would be full of bits and pieces of dandelion, dust, and sunlight that you couldn’t shake off. Walk inside and the house would be so dark, your eyes too adjusted to the sun. The day felt like the inside of a Van Morrison song and sometimes you were aware of every single pore of your body opened up in the light.
Children would be outside with various stages of dried popsicle and sticky Kool-Aid. If you had a porch swing you’d sit back into it, using your toes to move the swing backwards and forwards. I remember lazy blades from the ceiling fan, the smell of a barbecue or – if you were lucky – a good shrimp boil all afternoon and into the evening. The evenings were made for lightning bugs if you could still find them, dozily making their way around the yard. There would be baseball on someone’s TV, the sounds of a Budeweiser commercial on someone else’s. At night you’d sleep with just a sheet covering you because if you were like me, you couldn’t sleep without some kind of cover, and you’d lie still under the blanket of heat and enjoy the movement the fans made in the air.
These were the summers I remember. The younger summers held Slip ‘N Slides and sticky bomb pops. The older summers had wine coolers and picnics in the parks. But they all held heat and memories and haze and that beautiful, magical slam of the screen door that I will never forget as long as I live.
-S.
Captured beautifully, as always.
Oooh, I’m back in! Updated Internet Explorer last night, perhaps this version likes your server better?
Hate the heat. Hate the cold. I’m impossible to please.
Would love a screen door though. Hate flies.
Jesus Christ, woman. This kind of writing is why I feel so fucking drawn to you. The inside of a Van Morrison song? I couldn’t have thought of that myself..but yes, yes, yes, a million times, yes. You just described every single Arkansas summer of my life. And even though I am currently living that heat and hating every second of it? You still managed to make it sound romantic and magical. I know – I’m married..and you’re about to be. But I definitely think we should run away together. : )
Just crazy. Having been born, partially raised and spent the majority of my adult life in Mississsippi, it’s as if you were a fly on the proverbial wall. (A few childhood years were spent around the country and world, also courtesy of the USAF.)
Of course of late we’re living through temps in the 90s with heat index of 105 or better. Looming just off shore is the ever growing oil slick. Piece by piece, that world you describe is being destroyed…. but thatnks for the beautiful memory.
Sounds about like the current summer here in Arkansas. Blistering hot. The only thing you forgot were those dinnertime popup thunderstorms that deluge everything with rain, and offer a free fireworks show well into the evening.
Wonderful post. Come back to Raleigh. We are in the throes of a heat wave not seen in 25 years or more. Temps in the high 90′s with heat indices of over 100 for weeks now. No relief until later next week, when it will only be in the high 80′s.
Minus the lightning bugs, the budweiser, the baseball and the screen door and yep that’s pretty much African Summers too. Great descriptive writing! Oh and ex-nay on the shrimp too. But otherwise, *totally* the same. Tee hee.
Don’t forget the humidity. The humidity is oppressive. I live in the South too and dear goodness is it hot & humid. I went running the other night and felt like I was breathing water. I add between 30 and 60 seconds to my 1.5 mile run due to heat & humidity alone.
I hate the heat, but it sure is nice to be able to walk out the house any time of the day or night without needing a jacket/sweater.
The rear view mirror often has a rosy tint. ;-)
As one who grew up in the midwestern US, I remember summers like that as well. As an adult who spends most of his working days outdoors, only to spend his off time coaching two softball teams I’m slightly less nostalgic about them. *lol*
Last night I let the team wear their black jerseys–which they love because they look so damned awesome–because the temperature was “only” going to be in the mid to upper 80′s.
(And may I recommend a short story for you by Ray Bradbury? “The Sound of Summer Running” is a story that I think might resonate with you)
And here it is: The Sound of Summer Running
http://katehartman.com/teaching/downloads/TheSoundofSummerRunning.pdf
Please, never stop writing, Shannon.
And when you get a chance, give a listen to “I am a Town” by Mary-Chapin Carpenter. I think you’ll relate.
Have a joyous weekend.
You make it sound so pleasant! When actual temps hit over 100 degrees this weekend (not including humidity), I’m going to try to picture your pleasant words as I try not to fucking melt.
I hadn’t really made the connection before, but after seeing Easy’s comment, your writing (especially here) does remind me of Bradbury. Like painting with words. He’s my favorite :)
You know, they say things move a lot slowly in the South. We can attribute much of that to the heat. :) Also, things don’t change much and everything you described can still be found somewhere, in some neighborhood, anywhere in the South. Especially here in my little coastal town of Louisiana.
Yes, yes, yes. All the things I love about summer-and you have captured it beautifully, in the way only you can.
We always told people we had a “455″ air conditioner in the car. All four windows down, going 55 mph.
Your talent for imagery is incredible. I got goosebumps reading that. Thank you so much!!!
Wow, that almost made me forget how freaking hot it is here in Arkansas. Thanks for sharing.
Teresa- that’s what my mom used to say about the A/C.
I had the privillege of having two summer vacations in Texas. My god the heat. The first time I went, I drove with my mom, brother and step dad with no A/C. That was sheer hell to a 10-year-old. But once I got there, it was great courtesy of my Aunt’s A/c and the fact that she lived on a lake (That felt like warm bath water but a lake non the less.)It was fitting that I got a crush on one of her neighbors grandson’s names Bubba.
Fantastic and evocative! Excellent writing…
And people laughed at me when I bought a wooden screen door for my brand new house just because I liked the way it slammed. I thought it was just me. Thanks for the memories!
The image you painted with your words is my reality right now – but your words – make it so much more delicious. Thank you. moi
Wonderful writing! As others have said, you almost make me want to enjoy the third straight week with temps in the 90s in Atlanta. Enjoy your summer :-)
Lovely post.
The Sookie Stackhouse books are much better than the series, although the series is pretty good. What’s her name with the screaming does get on the nerves a bit tho.
Okay, this is probably not how I should react to this, but were you ever trained in how to do image work as a writer? Or did you come by it naturally? Because I spent almost a semester learning to write in images like this — where you never name an emotion or feeling, but create it through the image you craft — and for me it is still very difficult and I could not do it as well as you, I don’t think. I am in awe :)
Also, I live somewhere where the summers are too hot. Way too hot. I’m pathetically white, and I’ve have had it all — heatstroke, heat exhaustion, heat rashes, sunburns so bad they have cracked and bled and still I remain just as white and vulnerable to the sun. We don’t even have grass to take the edge off, just burning-hot sand. (It’s in the southwest, not the south.) But as much as I hate it, I also don’t think you can live anywhere without it making its mark on you and in its own way, I suppose I love it, and I’ll miss it if I move away. The brilliant blue sky, the feel of paving stones burning hot under my feet, desert plants with their bare outlines etched against the brilliant sky even in summer, flowering so briefly it makes you feel lucky to see the blooms, the excitement and wonder bubbling uncontrollably inside of you at snow, making you dizzy with glee, magnified many times over simply because it only snows every five years or so. Thunderstorms and sunsets so beautiful they take your breath away. It’s weird, this love-hate relationship I have with where I live. *shrug* Maybe in twenty years I’ll remember it through rose-colored glasses :)