Bittersweet September

Minnesota, they say, has two seasons: winter and road construction. This is not true. Road construction happens all year. Everything happens all year, because this is Minnesota, and we have learned to, ahem, plow forward with whatever needs to be done. If we didn't, goods and services would cease to be available for a solid four months of the year and we would all be forced into literal hibernation. Sounds pretty awesome actually.

But no. People put their studded tires on their bikes and ride right over the icy patches. Trucks are out plowing and sanding in the middle of the night to prepare the roads for morning traffic. Children are stuffed into layers upon layers of woolen garb to stand at the bus stop - layers which are shed and shoved into lockers, then pulled out and reapplied for recess, shed once again after recess, then adorned a final time to get home.

We do, in fact, have four seasons and, in fact, we consistently make rank on the best-places-to-live lists (although we are highly segregated, so these lists are clearly subjectively spurious).

Our livability ranking is high not because of our fortitude - yes, we keep on living through the dark, grey, frigid days of winter, but we're not really very happy about it. Well, some people are and the rest of us are related to those people. We don't want to move away from our relatives, so those few people who genuinely like winter sports and hate sunshine had really better step up their Christmas cookie game.

We stay for our families, and we stay for the months of April-November. Those months are why MN is so very great. The parks, the lakes, the trails. The fresh growth of spring tulips. The sultry heat of a good pool day. The crisp piles of leaves for children to jump in and cats to pee in. The wilderness right outside of the city. The walkable streets of small towns. The fairs and festivals and markets.

There's no research on this to my knowledge, but I think the general population of MN goes through an annual psychological cycle much like the seasons themselves. It goes like this:

So now we are stepping into September. It's still summer, but school is beginning and fall will follow it right on in. The weather is starting to refresh, but is also a reminder of the hard part to come. In this phase of my psychological cycle, I'm grieving the best part of the year, with its sunlight and promise of adventures and memory-making opportunities, while also trying to stay positive about the impending sledding-followed-by-hot-cocoa sessions. These are some of the other juxtapositions that come to mind...


Haven't smelled enough dirt and dry pavement, but smokey smells bring back cabin thoughts.

Not done feeling the wood floor on bare feet (those soon-to-be under-the-covers land mines), but relishing the hand-me-down slippers.

Haven't had enough air on my skin, but welcoming back old sweater friends (not yet hidden under coats).

Haven't finished my study of sun-dappled trails, but truly identifying with the squirrels tucking in.

Haven't filled my eyes with enough green - first bright and yellowish and new, then deep and full - but standing under the umbrella of a blazing maple will always amaze.

Not done with the plans I had with the crickets - the potted plants, the strings of lights, the evenings spent with crosswords and cocktails - but ready for life's stress to be soothed by fictional programming.

Haven't heard enough cicada symphonies of the late summer days, but it's nice to relax into the cool nights and soft, billowy depths of heavily-blanketed sleep.

Haven't had enough lazy days with my "baby," but routine makes us all happier anyway.

Wanting just one more week of hot, hot, sticky summer to seep into me so that the chill is a relief, but ready to leave behind the sunscreen and chlorine and grime.

Lamenting the waning sunlight, but already anticipating the tinsel and candlelight and sparkly snow.