Betwixt & Between

“Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, drink the wild air.” ― Ralph Waldo Emerson .

The official midpoint of summer was August 7, 2025 — halfway between the summer solstice and the fall equinox, according to the Farmer's Almanac. I felt it suddenly this morning, and went to find the official date. The idea of summer being more than half-gone is … well, instead let’s try to see it as the whole second act about to unfold. Funny how the first half of summer just flies by, whereas winter— at least here in the Northeast — seems to go on forever.

Yesterday evening, I went down to the wild blackberry thicket to see if I could find a few berries to add to the peach crisp I was going to make. Alas, the few canes I had picked from earlier in the month were completely dried up, the leaves curling and yellow — not because they had finished out their full natural cycle, but because of a long, long stretch with no rain. Just as I concluded that no berries were to be had, I spied two hidden canes, protected in the deep shade of overhanging trees and loaded with juicy ripe fruit. The sun was low, so I decided to wait until morning to brave the brambles, ticks, and small winged biters.

The next morning, basket in hand, I went down to pick — but the plump ripe berries were gone — now there were only a few wizened ones left. I was too late: someone had gotten there before me, so I could only scrounge up a few stunted, dry berries that rolled around like marbles in the bottom of my basket. So it goes with summertime. We pass the midpoint, and suddenly shadows lengthen, families start getting ready for the first day of school, crickets set up rehearsal space in the house, and hurricane season comes into focus in the forecast.

But wait! Above those dried-up brambles hang the century-old Concord grapes, luscious with green fruit just barely beginning to hint at the color to come. The vines weave through the undergrowth and climb into the trees, reaching as high as 20 feet into the canopy, to form an almost impenetrable tangle — a thicket reminiscent of the bramble hedge that encircled the sleeping princess in the ancient tale of Little Briar Rose, or The Sleeping Beauty.

Nearby, a couple of catbirds were flitting from one low branch to another, loudly insisting they’d gotten there first — to which I replied, “Maybe so, but I pay the taxes. Here, you can have the nine berries — they’re hardly worth a squabble! Plus you and your kin will have the advantage once the grapes ripen overhead, with me stuck down here on the ground!”

My peach crisp came out deliciously, by the way, despite the absence of blackberries. Meanwhile, with summer days dwindling and the natural world gossiping about fall, I was driven to make a list — you know, doing that thing I call ‘listing’ — as explained in a previous post. I divided a piece of paper in half vertically and took stock:

The biggest time commitment by far — not just this summer, but for the past year and then some — appears at the top of the column labelled ‘things done’. Publishing these weekly posts is intensely time- and energy-consuming, but also deeply satisfying — especially when I hear from readers. But in light of the long ‘not done’ column on my list, I’ve decided to space my posts out differently during September and October. I’ll publish a new post on September 5th & every other Friday thereafter, instead of each week. Reader feedback on this more langorous schedule are most welcome.

I suppose it's inevitable that the nostalgia pervading the end of summer also brings to mind a touch of the memento mori theme from last week. While I was getting dressed this morning, a question from the ‘curiosity-based exercises’ for reflecting on mortality resurfaced in my mind, namely: ‘How would you change your life right now if you found out that you had five years to live? One year? One day?’

As I sat pondering with one shoe on, the other in my hand, my inner voice blurted out, “How about if you had only one hour left to live?” The answer to that was easy. Out loud I said, “I’d put on my other shoe and get moving.”