The End of Summer on the Palouse
Smoky Skies and Bitter Regrets
By Joan Opyr, 9-04-06
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The tail end of summer, from harvest to the first hard frost, is a bitter and miserable time on the Palouse. There is something about harvest that inevitably disappoints. First there's the dust, then the field fires, and, at last, the ugly, bare, cut brown fields. I love the rolling green acres of spring and the golden promise of late July and early August, but it all leads to this, choking smoke and blowing dirt. Not even the odd dust devil can pick up my spirits. I know that when the fall rains begin, my home will float in a sea of mud. My children, my dogs, and my carpets will be filthy. Is this any way to live?
Last week it was back to school. The weather was unGodly hot, and there's not much joy in the return just yet. The kids resent their new early bedtimes, and I resent the early bedtime fights. We're all just as cross as two sticks. The heat and the dust and the smoke mean that we must do the dance of the seven shades every morning and every night. In the evening, we open up all the windows once the outdoor temperature is lower than the indoor, and we close them in the morning to keep in the cool. The blinds go up; the blinds go down. If we want to see the sun (if we can see the sun through all the smoke) we step outside and brave the yellow jackets. They're swarming at this time of year, foraging like mad. What they find are my bologna-baited traps. I must have caught hundreds of angry insects. They buzz about in great smelly jars, rocking the traps back and forth, stinging one another to death. It's a grim and yet strangely compelling prospect. I check the traps several times a day; I have no idea why.
The road to town is smoke and dust-choked, and the streets of Moscow are blocked by construction. Is it true that road repair funds are released on August 1st? If so, then why? This is just when the students begin to come back to the University of Idaho campus and thus the worst possible time to cut downtown into detour ribbons. And don't get me started about the Western practice of chip-sealing. This involves coating the road in sticky tar and then applying a layer of loose gravel, which passing traffic will push into the tar. I have two fresh dings on my windshield, one of which has already begun to grow into a full-fledged crack. Damn chip-sealing, anyway. I'd rather cope with the potholes.
Last but not least in my list of seasonal woes, the county fair. This towering horror of country life looms before us like Godzilla on his way to eat human sushi in Tokyo. The 4H kids weeping as their beloved steer or carefully-tended pig is hauled off to the butcher shop. The manifest unfairness of the ribbons awarded for baking or canned goods or handwork or horticulture. (I'm sure I'll catch hell from the ribbon winners for saying this but, "Psst, county fairs are rigged." Extension agents around the country put Valium in their Pez dispensers at this time of year. Don't believe me? Watch the poor soul who's tapped to judge the most perfect potatoes. His hands are shaking, aren't they? It's the delirium tremens. They'll go away just as soon as the fair is over.)
Summer is gone. Summer is wasted! Fall is on its way, bringing with it cold rain, slimey mud, and slippery, ass-busting ice. Soon, the snow tires will go on, and we'll face down those three long months of winter. I'm trying to look on the bright side, I really am, but this time of year brings out the worst in me. The highlight of last week? Sitting at a table on Washington State University's Glen Terrell Mall and thanking the fates that I was born in 1966 and not 1986. Too short shirts, too high heels, and a thong just visible above three good inches of plumber's crack seem to be the modern young woman's fashion statement of choice. For the men? Pants so low they can't walk without looking like Dick Van Dyke doing the penguin dance in Mary Poppins. I'm beginning to think maybe parachute pants and A Flock of Seagulls really weren't all that bad.
Oh, hell. Have I mentioned that I'm turning 40 this November? And already I'm making fun of young people. Time to climb in the jar with those irritable yellow jackets. Good thing I used all-beef bologna. I'm trying to be Kosher.
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Comments
From here in the Albuquerque, New Mexico area the perspective recently has been one of excessive rainfall and gray days. I sympathize with you for the mud and the carpeting-what familiar imagery! It's finally drying out some and maybe my driveway won't be a continual maze of mudoles and sinuous tracks between them-interspersed by the distorted, sliding footprints of near misses.
It's smoky here too and once the weeds dry out it'll get even worse since folks haven't seemed to figure out other ways of getting rid of them. Most of the smoke here in the south valley is from the Isleta Pueblo Indians burning old pallets and cottonwood to prepare the Horno ovens for the day's bread. But, it's tolerable and even picturesque and definitely isn't as bad as the unknown neighbors burning their trash in their rusty, hidden away trash barrels. They start in the early evening so they won't be detected and cited. I can't begin to describe the choking, acrid, choking, pungent scent of burning paper and Pampers being pulled into the house at night by the ubiquitous swamp cooler. I'll bet it's worse than the smells of burning crop stubble. Did I say 'choking' enough?
I too enjoy the spring and fall but bitter regrets? My only regret in the spring is that there isn't more faster blooming color to brighten things up a bit. The fresh greenery just doesn't grow fast enough to hide the junkpiles and the old cars that people fill their properties with. In case you think I'm pointing the proverbial finger, the "someday it'll be useful" malady infects me too. Maybe it's just I've always lived out west and you find quirky, unusual ways to reuse things. In the fall, well, then it's time to get rid of the weeds...
Disappointments? Sometimes, but it's just hard to beat the sunsets as seen from a high hill anytime-though sometimes they're not so spectacular. My back porch works pretty well when I'm not on a high hill. When the weather gets that fall chill and the mosquito numbers go down, it sure is wonderful to kick back there and have a fire in the grill and drink my favorite alcohol-enhanced beverage. I forgot to mention the uniquely Fall New Mexico smell of roasting green chiles. When they turn read and the roasting smell ends, that's a disappointment. If you don't like chiles, then you must be from somewhere else.
The skies are an incredible blue and a few clouds just add interest and contrast no matter what time of year it is. At night the skies are so spectacular you just want to lie back and stare... Get on a high hill and just look. The regrets and disappointments take on a different perspective and get overwhelmed by the scale of the things to enjoy.
The Palouse is not as bad in the fall as Joan writes. I would say that some of my best memories of Moscow are related to fall. But, my current home of Interior Alaska is heaven right now.
The endless forests are basking in various hues of yellow, greens, and a touch of red. The sky is crystal clear and the mountains, including the usually hidden Denali, bask with the gleam of new snow. Tens of thousands of geese, ducks, cranes, and song birds fill the air in as they head south. The night sky is filled with some of the most grandiose displays of auroras imaginable as greens, blues, and whites are a common sight during the midnight hours; I suppose just seeing night again is a nice feeling as 90 days of light gets on the nerves.
Hints of winter, a truly glorious time in Alaska, are hard to miss as frost and an occasional snow dust the windshield. Cranberries, raspberries, and blueberries fill our mouths with flavors unknown to the outside world. Fresh salmon, moose, and caribou are prepared for winter consumption as the smell of smokehouses fills the neighborhood. In a few weeks a cold heavy rain will bring the leaves to the ground; fall is short but enjoyable.
If the cruise industry ever found out that the best time to visit Alaska is between Sept. 1 equinox then, and maybe then, fall would lose its special touch. To those of you who can, visit Denali and the Interior now, you will not forget the trip.