Sharon Kennedy

August is here. It’s hard to grasp that fall is just around the corner. By my calculations, the three months of summer don’t amount to much, at least not where I live. The days of endless sunshine have been on the wane for a few weeks now.

The leaves that burst forth the middle of May will soon be drifting to the ground. An early frost, a strong wind, and the colors of autumn will litter the byways. Mothers will awaken their children a few minutes earlier each day in preparation for the new school year. Soon this summer will only be a memory.

Who am I kidding? Nobody’s thinking about school just yet. The 31 days of August will be jam packed with outdoor activities and maybe some day trips. Kids will forbid any mention of school until the first of September when they know their vacation is over. Until then, it’s fun from dawn till dark. Playing ball, climbing trees, fishing in the river, and bike riding will be major pastimes as children wring out every ounce of summer’s magic.

Remember when it was like that? When we got up early and made trails in the morning dew and rode our bicycles all day? My sideroad is home to lots of kids but I haven’t seen or heard a peep from any of them. Nobody wants to be outside when the grass is full of ticks and mosquitoes fill the air. It’s much nicer to stay indoors and fiddle with the computer. But maybe I’m projecting.

I used to enjoy being outside. Until a few years ago, I’d never even heard of a tick much less picked one off my person. And as far as those pesky mosquitoes go, I burned a Pic when I dined on my back porch. I enjoyed gardening, whether planting vegetables or flowers. I gathered ferns from the fields, dug holes, and created a fern garden alongside my garage. I transplanted trees, not realizing how fast pines and tamaracks grow. I didn’t depend on anyone for help. I figured if Mom could still push a lawn mower when she was 77, I could certainly get the job done by riding on one.

I’m not sure when I lost interest in yard work. I guess I realized keeping the grass cut wasn’t nearly as important as writing. The chores would be there long after I was gone, but my stories wouldn’t. They would be unwritten. When my sister passed away three years ago, she took all her stories with her. She could tell a tale much better than I, yet she never wrote anything down. Not one word.

What put me in a rather melancholy mood was hearing of health problems of former classmates. I suggested we throw a 70s party. Not the decade but the age. One by one those of us who are left are entering a new phase of our life. We’re growing old and beginning to experience health problems. We share our concerns and try to make light of them, but we’re not fooling each other.

We remember the days of our youth when an ailment rarely lasted longer than a few hours. If we got sick on a school day, so much the better. We got to stay home. Our mother was always there to administer Vicks to our chest or plop an Alka-Seltzer in a glass of tepid water. Maybe she tucked us in and read a story while the medicine lulled us back to sleep. If we had chicken pox or something more serious, we didn’t worry about dying. We were uncomfortable, but we knew we’d soon be well.

I remember one girl who was the sister of a classmate. According to an entry in my old diary, Jean Steiger lost her battle with leukemia when she was about 15 years old. She was a pretty, brown haired girl who rode our bus. Prior to her passing, I had never known anyone who died. It was January of 1958 so I was only ten, but I recall hearing hushed adult voices saying how sad it was. She was so young and had suffered so much. When her siblings got on the bus, nobody knew what to say to them so I suppose we said nothing.

Sometimes we still don’t know what to say when we hear a friend is seriously ill. Words often fail us because they rarely express what’s in our heart. Those of us who have known each other since kindergarten share a special bond. Some classmates moved away and like me, moved back. Some never left, preferring the security of a small town but we all share memories of teachers and friends who are no more.

Shakespeare never visited our area but his words perfectly describe the U. P. Our summers are too short. Rain fell today reminding me that autumn is not far off. There was a chill in my rooms foreboding what is to come. I dread the thought of another freezing winter with heavy snowfall and icy roads. Like youngsters dragging their feet as they head towards the schoolhouse, I hope the days of August drag slowly as one silently slips into the next.

May the sweetness of summer linger a little bit longer giving us time to prepare for whatever lies ahead.

Editor’s note: Sharon M. Kennedy of Brimley is a humorist who infuses her musings with a hardy dose of matriarchal common sense. She writes about everyday experiences most of us have encountered at one time or another on our journey through life. Her articles are a combination of present day observations and nostalgic glances of the past. She can be reached via email at sharonkennedy1947@gmail.com. In addition, Sharon has compiled a collection of stories from her various newspaper columns. The title of her book is “Life in a Tin Can.” Copies are available from Snowbound Books on North Third Street in Marquette.