End of summer
Back to school still hurts after 25 years
By Gregg PattersonI hate the end of summer vacation. My formal education ended years ago, but I still dread the end of summer's lazy days.
This summer was a strange one. It included a move and I missed taking the boys to the family farm in New York because of that and $4/gallon gasoline. My oldest, Bennett, managed to get his time in the outdoors, sleeping seven weeks straight in a tent: five weeks as a summer camp Boy Scout counselor and two more backpacking at the Philmont Scout Ranch in New Mexico.
But my youngest, George, and I felt cheated. By the time we finally settled in and got things unpacked at our new home, it was already August. We knew the end of summer break was near.
George, who is 10, and I tried to cram everything we could into the last week before school started. He spent mornings at soccer camp, and the afternoons we went to the nearby state park.
One afternoon, the naturalist taught us about the park's geology. The next day, it was a moonlight walk on the river trail. Then we learned about black bear management on Saturday afternoon. We made sure to get to the park by lunchtime each day, so George could learn how to cook, grilling hotdogs and hamburgers.
After the black bear seminar, ee hustled home to get the tent, other camping gear and fishing poles. About 30 miles out of town is a small U.S. Forest Service lake in the mountains with an old CCC-built rock pier and campground. We got there an hour before dark. George got a lesson in how to set up camp (tent first!) in less than an hour.
We soon settled around a crackling pine campfire with mugs of hot chocolate, enjoying an unusually cool August evening. Still, it was warm enough for the katydids and tree frogs to sing their songs, and barred owls hooted as dusk signaled the end of daylight and beginning of night. Author Carlos Castaneda calls it the "crack between two worlds."
Man, we were living large.
The last day of summer break was full of fishing (terrible), hiking, catching lizards and swimming in the coolness of the rain-freshened mountain lake.
Finally, it was time to go. Father and son sat side by side. I looked down into a freckled face that seemed to be me 40 years ago, and I knew that far-off, wistful look as he stared across the lake. My throat felt like I was trying to swallow a bag full of marbles.
I grabbed his hand and said, "Let's make one more run off of the pier and shout 'Goodbye, summer'."
"You're crazy, dad," he said with a smile.
Then we sprinted, hand-in-hand, off the pier, flying through the air, screaming at the top of our lungs — "Goodbye, summer!" — and into the cool lake.
And for a brief moment, I was 10 again.
