A favorite book I came across many years ago was titled My South. It was a compilation of poems and short stories from a number of people across the southern region who wrote about their version of the south. It is true there is no place quite like the south, and as I age there are no people on earth quite like the people who live in the south. And that goes especially for those of us born and raised under the scorching summer sun.
There is not much to remark about when it comes to winter in the south --- if we have a winter at all. And the fall can often be one quick wave of a first deep freeze dropping the leaves quickly. It can also ease along in such a way that the trees do not even look bare until mid-February. Spring can be a stunning show in the south. It depends on when that last hard freeze slips in. If the blooms and buds are already sporting the trees and shrubs our spring will be at best green, little fruit, and splotches of color here and there. I heard a Master Gardener comment one day that if the last hard freeze hits just right before this takes place the plants all seem to hit a reset button at once and spring explodes in unison. I believe we had that this year.
When it comes to summer in the south there are no variables that can change the outcome. Even if there is some El Nino or El Nina, the slightest of wind shifts may be felt. Summer in the south is one continuous weather pattern of "hot, mostly sunny with some clouds and a chance of rain." There is an unspoken promise of warm humid mornings and hot steamy afternoons. Evening thunderheads bubbling up from the southern shores of the great gulf casting a light show across the night sky leaving frogs, locusts, and crickets chanting and croaking for more.
The south is a "Sun Drop when it's really hot, a thunderstorm at five o'clock." To some it is "peaches in the summertime, barbecue and Sunday school." To others it is "laughter and play around a cold pool." Regardless, that old song that played before my time still plays on old time radio stations. "Roll out those Lazy Crazy Hazy days of Summer." Everything slows down as the heat sets in. Even the sun seems reluctant to dip down below the horizon and the afternoons tend to hang on forever.
Homemade popsicles circulate made with fruit juice or lemonade. Sprinklers water gardens and entertain children throughout a late afternoon. Joggers and walkers wake up earlier and earlier to chance escaping the morning heat. The smell of fresh cut grass permeates the air on the weekends as lawn mowers are cranked up to chop and trim the growth of what the afternoon rains triggered.
We have no great cold fronts barreling down with icy forecasts or warm fronts backing up from the salty waters below. We don't have an 80-degree afternoon that drops 20 degrees within 30 minutes. And we don't have massive storms in the dead of summer unless it is one great one being awarded its own grand title slowly churning and spinning toward our shores. There is nothing remarkable about our summers in the south aside from insects, critters and mankind all seeking the same water and shade. And yet, there is no place quite like the south in the summertime. And by August we promise we will never miss it again when it goes. And by February we will be strumming our fingers casting our gaze on a gray yard wishing it back in a hurry.
