THIS is the end. The last long weekend of summer.
Of course if you’re my mother you start saying summer’s almost over before your toes have even built up their flip flop callous. If you were to ask her right now, as a matter of fact, she would probably tell you it’s too late to get a nice pair of fall boots, since it’s almost winter.
She does the same thing with time. If it’s 9:30 in the morning, she says it’s almost noon. And if it’s 2:30 in the afternoon she says it’s almost dinner time. And if it’s 8:00 at night, omg, she has to get to bed, it’s close to midnight and she’s gotta get her rest what with a big snowstorm forecast for … 3 months from now.
And as I sit on the couch, typing out this post late Sunday night, I am actually grinning. Maybe more of a smirk actually. I am over 40 years old and I’m giddy over the fact that I don’t have to get up for the first day of school on Tuesday.
Like most kids, I found school incredibly boring. I didn’t find learning boring. I loved learning. It was school that was boring. Boring as batshit as an old friend of mine would say.
So every September when that very distinct back-to-school feeling is in the air, I am genuinely excited I don’t have to get on the bus. And the last day of summer, doesn’t have to be spent organizing my binders or worrying about going back to school … for me, the last day of summer will be spent walking through the fields of my community garden allotment, picking bushels of the heirloom paste tomatoes I grew. 30 tomato plants in all. San Marzanos, Amish Paste, Speckled Romans … all waiting to be turned into sauce for me to use throughout the winter. Or spring as my mother calls it.
I’ll bring them home, put some classical or Opera music on and spend the day outside pressing and cooking down my tomatoes for canning. There will be no binders involved.
And guess what? For a bit of end of summer fun, somewhere between mid morning and early afternoon I’ll have The Coop Cam, pointed towards me doing my tomatoes instead of the chickens.
I know. Fascinating. But still … it’s better than watching someone get ready to go back to school.