Originally broadcast in 2015
Many are now counting down the days with a mixture of regret, for those who like to sweat, and exhilaration, for those who prefer falling leaves.
But summer provides a kind of freedom that we can only dream about in fall and winter. Sleeveless, coatless walks along the Charles River. Outdoor dining on the Boston Harbor. Sailing on both. Picnics in Franklin Park. Fishing on the Spigot River in Lawrence. Pickup basketball games everywhere.
And it's the sounds of summer that many of us hold on to, like an old blanket long after the dog days have passed. The chorus of crickets in the blackness of night. Kids at play. The pounding of the surf, from Crane’s Beach to Revere to Hull to Truro to Narragansett.
The familiar theme from an ice cream truck, like a pied piper luring kids and their parents to the truck counter’s edge.
The end of summer in New England means the end of the festival season. Religious celebrations in the North End in August. The Caribbean Festival in Franklin Park. Live music night after night in DePasquale square on Federal Hill in Providence. For folks who like to dance, summer is the season for salsa in the streets. A season that drives host José Massó and that annual rite known as the Puerto Rican Festival.
Jazz wafts through June, July and August nights with festival after festival, from Boston to Newport with WGBH’s own Eric Jackson. There will be fewer days now to peel back the roof on the convertible or moon roof, to soak in the rays, and feel that ocean swept breeze. Fall is coming, folks, and autumn, without question, is extraordinary; painting New England in crimson and canary yellow. And for some it is the only season that counts.
But when that Northwind from Canada cuts its way across the region in November, we're reminded of what's ahead.
Somewhere in the too often gloomy distance between fall and winter, it seems that complaints about summer die down considerably and the imagination takes over. While shivering under blankets and bundled in layers, many of us will think of where we'd rather be: walking under starlit nights in Rio, on a sun crusted terrace in Marblehead, high noon strolls along the beach in Puerto Rico, July twilight on the Vineyard, any night and day in California.
And as summer ends, we clean off the picnic table, cover the patio furniture, condition the garden and think about the immediate months ahead, for next summer when we start all over again.
