Ada Writers look at Summer

By Mel Hutt

Summer is a time of sunshine, hot weather, and an occasional thunderstorm. Last summer we were more like the Dust Bowl era with much heat and little moisture.

It is a time to grow a garden, if your land allows. We enjoy the sunshine and occasional rain shower. With such a large lawn as we have, I spend many hours on my John Deere tractor/mower to keep the lawn looking good.

Morning Glories grow the best here. The veggies we buy. The farmers market is an asset to the people of this area. We enjoy watermelons sliced and eaten on our back porch.

The summer time brings the birds nesting on our two porches. It is fun to watch the parents care for their young after all the work they put into building the nest.

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By Gail Wood

In the heat of an Oklahoma summer, as a child, I would squat with my knees under my chin and sift the fine dirt in the ruts in front of our garage. My fingers delighted in the silky feel of the dust created by rain and sun and the tires on my mother's green Chevy. I had seldom felt the smoothness of real satin, but I knew what it should feel like. I felt the satin of the Earth, a gift of Nature, not a store-bought version encumbered with status and ego.

This dirt marked the seasons for me. First, spring rains created puddles of soupy mud. Then, as the mud dried in the summer sun, it would turn into puzzle pieces with curled edges, each piece shrinking away from its neighbor. These pieces could be lifted and crumbled through the fingers, transforming their hard brittleness into silky dust. This process was speeded up on the rare occasions when my mother would park her car in the garage. In an instant the tires would pulverize the crusty dirt into a tiny sensuous playground for my fingers.

That memory of summer has stayed with me throughout my life, and I still love to play in the dirt.

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By Don Perry

Well, it's summer, and the garden is growing, but not producing much, yet. I have gotten most of the spring projects out of the way by now, and I have time to go striper fishing. Planning for a fall hunt is still a concern, but it can wait. Summer is a time to relax and watch as the world around me grows into the fullness of life. Even the grasshoppers are growing fat off my cabbage plants. The purple martin has already produced one brood of chicks and is evidently preparing for a second brood. I sit and watch as she adds to her nest above the light fixture on the back porch. She doesn't mind my watching, as she has gotten used to my presence by now, and is more concerned with other things.

All seasons hold their own wonders and surprises, but summer is probably the best because of the combination of the rebirth of the land and harvest of the bounty the world has to share. Summer fits nicely between Spring and Fall.

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By Stephen B. Bagley

I remember summer as a child. How the sun felt against my small bare body as I jumped into the small pool near my house. How water coming from the well was always ice cold. Chasing fireflies across fields on the hill above my house. How the hot, humid days lasted a year and a half. How the stars burned in a black sky. Running across the alfalfa with my arms outstretched like I was flying.

I remember sneaking out of the house at midnight to wander the pastures under the moon. I was never afraid of the dark. I thought I was the most dangerous thing out in the night.

But when I got older, I learned some snakes hunted at night. I learned someone shot a bobcat near Roland. I learned we had rabid skunks, feral dogs, and drunken hunters who spotlighted deer and could easily mistake a child for an animal.

The night stopped being my friend. As I grew older and moved into town, it became even threatening. Burglars and drug dealers, gangs and drunk drivers. Like everyone else, I mostly huddle in my house at night, lock my doors, and sleep with a loaded .357 near. 

Still, sometimes I find myself wandering up the street in my neighborhood after dark. I carry a flashlight and a stout cane, but if I'm lucky, for a few minutes, when the wind rises and the moon is right, it feels like it did when I was child, when summer lasted forever and the summer night welcomed me under the million and one far away suns. 

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