So Long Sweet Summer
Edited by Marina Crouse
In the summer of 2010 I worked as a camp counselor. After three months of leading canoe excursions and lifeguarding in the bays of Lake George, I sat sunburned and sleepy in the final campfire of the season. The whole camp assembled at the lake’s edge, admiring the August sunset and reflecting on the summer. Each of the counselor units performed a song that served as a cute, brief camp sendoff — save for the senior boys, those bastards sang all eight minutes of “American Pie” twice. As I joined the junior girls in belting the aptly-named “Age Six Racer (So Long Sweet Summer)”, the lyrics caught in my throat and I teared up. Dashboard Confessional’s lyric, “I stumbled upon you and gratefully basked in your rays,” delivered a keen pang of nostalgia.
Confusing, given the fact that I hated working at camp. The people were kind, but the job was burnout-inducing and not great for an introvert — I knew by week two that I would flounder. Yet in the moment I was mushy and reluctant to leave, marveling at whatever residue summer had left on the hippocampus.
Eleven years later, I’m wrapping up an equally busy but better summer and I’m still a late-August sap. The mornings are growing cooler, pumpkin-flavored Oreos are gracing store shelves, and I can now find parking in Edgartown. As much as I adore the fall, I’m scrambling to capture the slimming remainder of the season. Let’s go paddleboarding! Do we have time to grab drinks before they leave? How have we not watched Jaws yet? Of course our ambitious summer list is largely unfinished. When you live in the northeast, the summer is never long enough to accommodate your daydreams and plans concocted in the bleak midwinter. There are moments of panic where I wonder if I spent too much time working or unwinding with Netflix binges. Too much time stressing about self-imposed deadlines (or those of my editor, the Patron Saint of Accepting Late Submissions) for a blog. Not enough day hikes with Gunther. Despite basking in far fewer rays this year, there have been some unexpected moments of relishing the last stretch of tank tops and sunscreen.
Over the past week and a half, I’ve had the paradoxical experience of slowing down while frantically checking off summer bucket list items. It began with Grand Illumination in Oak Bluffs, an evening stroll through the village of famous “gingerbread” houses decorated with eclectic lanterns. Lumbering through the crowded pathways and observing banter among homeowners on their porches, I was pleasantly reminded of the island’s flamboyance that captivated me as a child. Before Hurricane Henri cut the event short, Tee and I caught some of the Agriculture Fair, climbing aboard the ferris wheel with hands still sticky from our rootbeer floats, spotting numerous coworkers and celebrating the benefits of working on a farm. Then there was the Chappy Point to Point race, a 5-mile run that I mistakenly told Tee was a 5k when registering. What seemed like a poor choice at 6am on our day off quickly turned into an enjoyable morning, as we explored the island by foot while learning about the fantastic Chappaquiddick Wampanoag initiatives towards reparations and education. By participating in a few of these island staples - many of which were cancelled last year - we felt like we had begun the initiation into the island community. The disappointment of missing out on aspects of the Vineyard summer was remedied, as we knew there were at least a few more to come.
Labor Day may yield an overwhelming final wave of summer folk, but I sense a stilling. Workers on the island seemed relieved by this fact, perhaps eager to regain the beaches, establishments, and general space that has been occupied by visitors since May. I’m curious to see this transition firsthand. I didn’t witness much of it last year, as I was already back in central Mass, returning on emptier and emptier weekend ferries as the autumn wore on. Perhaps this means more September beach days and opportunities to explore new haunts before they close for the season. A few more chances to engage in summer activities without the summer crowds. But I’m sure there will still be the So Long Sweet Summer pang.
I might kick myself for saying this while neck-deep in zucchini batches next year, but I find something thrilling in the ephemeral summer energy on the island. The people and the ways in which everything is crammed into a short window is at once unsustainable and beautiful. Similar to the Camp Chingachgook Summer of 2010, I find comfort in the chaos. When Tee and I scroll through summer photos, recall meals enjoyed both at home and on the town, or share stories of fun interactions with island vendors, we realize that our lack of sleep this summer wasn’t wasted on the mundane. We basked.
