Caffeinated Politics

Over the past several weeks, Madison has been gripped by intense heat and humidity. The air has hung heavy, leaving people listless and wondering—especially as runners pass by our homes, glistening with sweat—how do they do it? These were the days when even the faintest breeze brought relief, and we could only imagine the bracing slap of cold air that greets us in mid-January as we step out our front doors.

And then, almost without warning other than the calendar to guide us, comes the subtle touch of fall. Today I see young men in our neighborhood walk down the street in a curious blend of seasons—shorts and summer shirts layered with a flannel one. What I notice and strongly approve of is the color coordination of their clothes that are just warm enough to fend off the now noticeably chillier breezes.

Drivers on the Beltline this weekend might have observed the first signs of autumn near the Arboretum, where red leaves have begun to appear among the bushes and trees. Just a week ago, the sun was unrelenting, and the air so saturated with moisture it felt as though you could wring it out with your bare hands. But the seasonal changes are afoot. On a walk to a neighborhood grocery store Friday night, we passed an oak tree heavy with green acorns, their caps still firmly attached. It won’t be long before they fall to the ground and squirrels begin their meticulous gathering, burying them wherever they have a whim to do so.

When I was a boy, Labor Day weekend marked not only the end of summer and the start of the school year, but also—at least in my mother’s view—the beginning of fall’s relentless march toward winter. I never understood then, and still don’t quite grasp now, how she held such a pessimistic view of the changing weather. We are all aware of climate change, and one of the news stories this fall will surely be how some classrooms are unbearably warm in late summer, especially those without air conditioning. Children will be eager to be dismissed at the end of the day, or classes will be moved outside to the school lawn. Then there is that favorite time I embrace and welcome each autumn when Indian Summer takes hold and people’s spirits are lifted. Students skip classes, and workers seem to have forgotten to look at their watches as they come back late from lunch.

Mom always anticipated the shortening days of summer light far earlier than they actually arrived, and dreaded winter’s promising cold long before the Halloween pumpkins had even been set out. I love the seasonal changes and the variety of clothing that comes with them. A warm, colorful sweatshirt for a late-night walk as the fallen leaves crinkle underfoot and colored jeans that are never even placed within reach from April to September.

There are only two things I do that anticipate a season before it arrives. In late October, James and I string Christmas lights on the tree in our front yard, wiring everything so it’s ready to illuminate our home with the first snowfall—or by December 1st, whichever comes first. The other exception is in March, when James and I rake away lingering snow from the lawn to lay down hard plastic mats—originally designed as office chair protectors—so our Adirondack chairs won’t sink into the softening soil as frost gives way to the warming sun.

What makes our state so wonderful is that every season has its time, and we can thoroughly enjoy them all. Even though the flannel shirts are back again, let me assure you that there are plenty of reasons to make many pitchers of Country Time Lemonade in the weeks to come.