I hate summer and have hated it for decades. I especially hate the 4th of July. I hate noise, the backyard fireworks that began this year the first week of June and won’t stop till mid-July. I am much like dogs in regard to firework noise, wish I could bark and howl at them. I hate the heat and the swarming of invasive Japanese beetles and Virginia creeper, how my Norway Maple is dying of heat and drought, no matter that I water it, the circling police helicopter, almost daily since the protests, but always more often in summer. And did I mention the explosions of backyard fireworks, loud enough to ring in my ears?
Japanese beetles in the roses
I hated the 4th of July for its fireworks even when I still loved summer, when I was a student or a teacher and summer was freedom even if I was waitressing or taking recertification classes. I cleverly scheduled a Spanish class in Mexico mid-June to mid-July once, thinking I’d escape, have one year in my life without 4th of July, but the coordinator said, for our American students, and turned to beam at us, we’re having hot dogs and fireworks tonight.
I hate the way magpies and blue jays have trouble weaning their young, who make an endless racket as they follow their mothers from branch to branch and rooftop to rooftop. My rooftop, branches outside my window. “Feed yourselves, you spoiled brats,” I yell at them. “She’s not feeding you anymore!” This goes on for weeks in June, punctuated by fireworks in the afternoon. Also in the afternoon, motorcycles. Bikers dust off their motorcycles in summer and love roaring loudly enough down my neighborhood streets to set off car alarms. It’s their favorite thing to do. I don’t think they ever go anywhere: they just thunder up and down my streets, from afternoon to midnight.
And at 8:30 p.m. after we’ve had dinner and watched a movie on Saturday night, there’s a vibrating bass beat and a cacophony of music, from the next block, from the park, and a big gathering of people at the park because it isn’t even dark yet. At 8:30 p.m. it ought to be dark and everyone ought to be inside. This is crazy to be happening during a pandemic. This is like summers in the 80s when we first moved here except now it’s not often rap but some other music with unintelligible lyrics and in those days gunshots and sirens were more frequent. That was probably when I began to hate summer, which brings rowdiness and crime outdoors.
I hate summer because we’re in drought in the west, have been for twenty years with a few heavy snow seasons not enough to change things. Half the state is in moderate to severe drought right now, susceptible to fire danger and people insist on fireworks. Our average temps are rising and I hate summer because I hate the heat. I still remember the southwest monsoon season in Denver, thunderstorms every afternoon, and I thought that’s how it would always be and it is seldom like that anymore.
I hate summer because the lovely skin fungus I developed in Florida—I owe a lot of things to Florida—likes to blossom anew in summer, like my face likes to break out in summer, and there’s about a one-hour window on each end of the day when I can stand to be outside for more than five minutes because of the heat. And climate change has made it harder to maintain the yard, and if I do that, I let the house go. My domestic workload doubles in summer and those kids in the backyard kiddie pool across the alley never stop whining and fighting with each other.
On the 4th of July we go to our neighborhood coffee shop at 7:30 and by 8:30, even though all are in masks, it’s too crowded for us. By 9 the cooler turns on and it is too hot to take that walk; too hot to weed the garden. At Mt. Rushmore, the excuse for a president promotes more hate, more division and acts like the pandemic doesn’t exist. It is too hot to listen to his hot air.
Because it is the 4th of July, we’ll make a half-hearted gesture toward American holiday traditions and have corn on the cob, barbecued pork tonight, things we can grill on the back porch without heating the kitchen. No maskless crowds for us. We want to live. I hate summer for the way it fills all outdoor spaces with crowds, especially during the pandemic.
I hate summer because when it has finally become dark enough, quiet enough for me to drowse into sleep at 10:30 p.m. on a night that isn’t even the 4th of July, someone sets off a series of explosions that sound like they are beneath my bedroom window. And here come the sirens. I hate summer. Where are my earplugs?
July last year I thought about buying the loudest megaphone available at Harbor Freight. I’d wait in the backyard till the cherry bombs went off across the alley, Then I’d turn on the megaphone and shout “bang, bang, boom, bam, kaboom.” Then I’d wait till they were all inside and asleep, and I’d do the same thing. I didn’t buy the megaphone last year, but I’m beginning to wish I had.
I’m with you, all the way. I remember when 98 degrees F was sweltering in Denver. Now mid- and upper 90s are just normal from mid-June to late August. Most people in Denver were on vacation in the summer and things were pretty quiet during the day. Now, everyone in the USA comes to Colorado for the summer!! ‘Course, I was a kid playing hide-and-seek all over the neighborhood at night and we were making our own noise with no thought of anyone else. Grownups were inside watching TV anyway. We were lucky to have as much room to roam around in out on the outskirts of Denver. But things are always different when you’re a kid. Now I’m an old man and can bitch about things as much as I want to. Summer, you get trees with leaves, iced tea and ice cream. That’s about it for me. … where’s my stick? “Hey, you dog people, get off my lawn!!”
I know what you mean. I used to escape to the mountains for a day and not get home till midnight just to have a chance to cool down. Maybe you guys can take a break in the high country.
It sounds like you could definitely benefit from a walk in the forest. Head to the mountains this week when the weekend crowds won’t spoil your getaway.
A kindred spirit! Too crowded, too hot, too many people roaring around on their motorcycles with music blasting, fireworks causing the animals and me to cringe, and this year, a grief for what this country is struggling with on many fronts. All I can recommend is getting out early for a walk, drinking cold white wine, writing and calling friends, and donating to groups that will change this crazy world. Take care.
Deb and Meg and Jean, wonderful advice and we’re doing much of it already, but I like the venerable contrarian tradition of essay writing, posing yourself against something generally seen as a good thing, and enjoyed coming up with all the things to hate about summer. What else could I write against? Love? Marriage? Chocolate? No. Impossible to write against chocolate.
Amen!
Ha..I think you are dealing with Mars entering Aries urging us to “let the fur fly”. And ..oh yes .. there is a lunar eclipse in Capricorn today to stir things up even further. So feeling crabby is part of the equation!
Oh, but Judy, I’m always crabby on the 4th of July. There goes another motorcycle, and a siren.
The 4th is the crappiest holiday. First of all, it’s the only holiday that goes by a number. How about a holiday called, say, J? Or K? or Y? Equal opportunity. Plus, no presents or costumes or fasting or trees or hand-painted chicken eggs. And there’s not a lot of freedom in the air today. The weather is nice, but our dog will not go for a walk on the 4th. Plus, it seems like a holiday for white people. We might order Chinese food tonight and celebrate like the Jews celebrate Christmas.
We did that! Ordered Chinese last night!
Oh, Pat, I hate all those things about summer, too. Add my neighbor’s rattling air conditioner and the barking dogs, lawn mowers, and mosquitoes—it’s too much. Thanks for this perfect rant. I think the world needs more intelligent ranting.
I’m regretting now not remembering to mention the hum of my neighbor’s evap cooler.
I, too, add my contrarian voice to this august company. And speaking of August, I once spent most of a muggy Boston summer pregnant. Now *that’s* discomfort. There were other, more distant simmers,with open fire hydrants in which to splash around on city streets, well-founded fears of contracting polio at local swimming pools, and other, more pleasant, memories. But in general, I agree: summer’s a bummer.
Querida Andrea! I’ve been thinking about you often. Hope all is well. The years of fearing polio I remember well. That’s one pandemic behind us.
Funny little blog. I too hate the fireworks and many of the other loud sounds of the city. But I love my summers off working in the studio.
This is a find. Summer has always been my least favourite season (except for the teaching break) and I thought I was the only one. Luckily Vancouver hasn’t gotten very warm yet. The high was only 57° Friday, and we don’t have all the firework noises, but at 10pm it’s still frigging light out. How can you curl up with your book for the night when the sun is still up?! I’ve always been meaning to write something called The Tyranny of Sunshine. Fall is coming. That’s my favourite!
The Tyranny of Sunshine is a great title! You should write that piece.
Wow! I thought I was the only one who does not like summer. I love the season, but I am not crazy about what it does to the human species. I am a winter girl myself. Winter can look so romantic. We get snowflakes, nature sleeping, water for us to drink. I get excited when you’re angry, all I can see is that beautiful smile of yours.
You go girl!!