Late Summer

I grew up with one short, tidy summer season. In Alaska, summer started June 1st, and ended August 31st. Three months, a perfect ¼ slice of the year. This was not because it was one of those storybook climates where each season occupies it’s own quarter. Spring lasted about 3 weeks, and autumn 2 months, leaving a hefty half of the year for winter.

But summer at least followed a predictable arc— it burst forth from spring, flourished gorgeously for its time, then slumped directly into autumn. Plants grew, budded, flowered, fruited, died. And when they died winter was not far behind. 

The length and laziness of the seasons here in Oregon has always thrown me off, and still does, seven years in. The seasons are long, and their distinctions are blurry at best. Each season trails off imperceptibly as the next gathers speed, so that they interpenetrate one another hopelessly and I can’t tell where or when each begins and ends. An unfortunate circumstance for someone who loves to categorize and name things.

Worst of all though, summer here simply cannot be contained by one discreet season. There is an entire class of plants who burst forth, flower, and die by July! And another class of late bloomers who don’t even poke out of the ground until the first batch is nearly done, then carry on blooming into September. In the vegetable garden, my potatoes are already begining to die back by late July, just as the tomatoes and beans begin to take over the world. Meanwhile our summer drought climate means all unwatered lawns (a thankfully common condition) are turning brown and withered.

It really throws me off to see plants dying in mid-summer. I feel a panic rise in my throat every year, that I have to fight back with my intellect. No dear, this does not mean winter is coming. No dear, this does not mean you are a terrible gardener. The first time I grew potatoes here, and watched them dying in July, I was sure they had a blight of some kind. I was shocked when I found a good crop of tubers under the dying stems. Where I come from potatoes do not have a chance to die of old age, instead frost cuts them down in their boots in early October. 

Fortunately for my categorizing brain, Traditional Chinese Medicine recognizes 5 seasons, rather than our 4, with “late summer” being its very own season. As I understand it, the late summer season represents a pause and settling, after the rush of spring and early summer and before the quiet autumn and winter. Late summer is a time of gathering in and sifting through, preparing for the autumnal task of storing up what’s important and letting go of the rest. 

I don’t follow TCM, or any other ackronymable body of thought for that matter, but I am fascinated by ancient systems that helped make sense of the world before science came along. This concept of late summer definitely helps me make sense of what’s happening around me this time of year, and within me too. By August all my excited summer energy is winding down and I feel sleepy. Not just tired, but kind of zoned out. Staring off into space kind of energy. 

A few years ago I read something about “emotional digestion” and the concept has stuck with me ever since. After a big meal people tend to get sleepy while their body is busy doing the internal work of breaking down the food into tiny, usable pieces of nourishment. Similarly, after a period of emotional intensity our heart and mind need time to process and turn these new experiences into nourishment. This is an inward, and even unconscious process, it looks and feels like we aren’t doing anything. 

That’s how I think of late summer. A transitional time, after the excited growth of spring and the full flowering of early summer, before the decisive culling of autumn and the inward, but active work of winter. A pause. Not to think in any conscisous way but just to rest, and stare off into space. A time to let secret, unknown things happen in the very darkness of our bones. 

I try to give myself permission for this apparent laziness (a trend as I get older…) but it is hard. The garden is still plenty full of work crying to be done. Harvest and processing are in full swing. The soil needs dug for winter crops. The weeds of late summer are dropping seeds by the millions. How to balance work and rest? Will I ever understand?