Summer’s Parting Gifts

When summer draws to her end, I visit upstate New York. Cornfields stretch as far as the horizon. Sunflowers gaze toward the sky. It’s a road trip with a friend who also wants a change of pace and scenery. We make the drive from Philadelphia to the Finger Lakes. As much as the beauty of the area, the friendliness of its people, their unpretentiousness, and their thank you for visiting, strikes me as something I had nearly forgotten—hospitality and people who appreciate your business.

The young man at the hotel desk smiles and tells us to come back. He has long curly brown hair and a beard. What are his dreams? Does he earn a decent living at this job? A young woman, very much overweight with tattoos running up and down her arms, takes our breakfast order. Is her weight due to stress, to the incalculable toll of living, or does she like her body and feel good in it? It’s not for me to judge, but rather to appreciate her kindness. No bacon on the breakfast sandwich, please. Just the egg and arugula. No problem, she smiles. The woman at the breakfast counter, wiping down spilled coffee, looks worn out. Her lackluster brown hair is brittle with gray roots. Despite her age and the menial job, she, too, smiles at me.

Summer is amazement. How many summers have come and gone! How many more? Pink phlox frame the black wrought iron gate of the Victorian house with mansard roof. Gardens dressed in greenery alone and a sweeping weeping willow tree overlook Lake Cayuga. In town, the small coffee shop, not a Starbucks in sight, makes a refreshing mocha latte with whipped cream. Shops catering to Baby Boomers pipe in “While My Guitar Gently Weeps.” We grew up in a time of turmoil, and now, in the graying chapter of our lives, we silently sway to that melancholy song, drawing us together for a moment in community.

My friend and I stroll toward the lake. A man and his dog walk the sidewalk. Although strangers, he smiles and says hello in the summer light. We sit in a white Adirondack chair. A motorboat speeds by kicking up a crest of white water. Being here offers mindfulness that strengthens my health, physically and emotionally.

When I return home, I look forward to meeting with my writing group and hearing the work of other women. Being together as creatives and devoting a morning to ourselves is a pleasure never to be taken for granted. I’ll write about the blue lake and the houses from another time when life was slower and people greeted you with a good morning … and still do. The peace, tranquility, and pleasure of listening, looking, and writing remain summer’s parting gifts.