The season of seasons ~ July 18, 2002

David Heiller

My column last week on poison ivy brought a few comments. First Bob Dubois of Askov called to say that he uses Mylanta on poison ivy to great effect. He can also take a slug of it after he reads the Askov American.

Phil Diers of Willow River swears by Fels Naptha as a treatment for poison ivy. He found a few dusty bars of it, vintage 1970, at the Willow River Mercantile, and washed with it, and it seemed to keep the P.I. at bay. Plus it gave Phil a much needed scrubbing.

Just kidding, Phil!

Harold Blatz of Willow River told me that he used bleach on some poison ivy. It worked one time, and didn’t work another time, but it sure whitened his legs.

My poison ivy discussion got me to thinking that poison ivy season is just one of many mini-seasons of summer.

There is also mosquito season, and wood tick season, and sun burn season, all of which fall on the same side of the scale as P.I. season.

But other mini-seasons are much more pleasant.

Biking season, always one of my favs!

Bike ride season has emerged at our house. Almost every night Cindy and I get on our bikes and take a ride down the gravel road. Our two dogs run beside us, tongues dragging and tails wagging. We often see a deer or two. When we meet a vehicle, which isn’t often, the driver usually slows way down and gives us a friendly wave.

The bike ride is a great time for visiting, and seeing the neighborhood and just riding quietly and soaking up the evening.

Pond season is here too. We have a pond below the garden. It’s about 100 feet long by 30 feet wide, and is eight feet deep.

David in the too-cold-for-Cindy pond!

The water is usually cold and clean, except during dry spells when it gets a little stagnant. This summer it has been spring fresh, due to heavy rains.

When the weather got real hot a couple weeks ago, and I get real hot from working in the garden, I took off my shirt and shoes and waded into the pond.

Bliss. Nirvana. Heaven. Those are just a few mild words to describe the feeling of the pond on that hot summer day.

It’s funny, we’ve had the pond for about 10 years, and the kids have always liked to swim in it, but I’ve turned up my nose at it until this summer. But now that I’ve discovered pond season, I can’t wait for those 80 degree days, so that I can work up a sweat and wade into the water.

The water temperature in the pond is temperamental. The top layer is warm, then about a foot below it is a colder layer, and a couple feet below that is Lake Superior. The warm layer often drifts away, then comes back again.

Malika and a produce bouquet,
1992-ish. One of summer's
 finest seasons.

Minnows brush against my body in the pond, and sometimes nibble at a mole on my back. No big deal. Sometimes my daughter Malika, 17, comes in with me, and we shiver and laugh together.

“Do you think there are snapping turtles in here?” she asked me on Sunday.

“I think I’m standing on one right now,” I answered. She didn’t believe me, but the thought is still in the back of our minds, because a couple years ago we caught a huge snapper in our yard.

The garden produces its own seasons. Strawberry season is here now. Raspberry and blueberry seasons are coming on. Then comes the best one of all, tomato season.

Fishing season. Cabin season. Vacation season. The list is endless.

You probably have your own. I hope you can enjoy them, because as we all know, they don’t last long around here.

How I (gulp) spent my (um) summer vacation ~ July 11, 1985

David Heiller

How I Spent My Summer Vacation

Those six words can send English teachers cringing under their desks. Newspaper readers may likewise cancel their subscriptions as they watch witty editors fall on their faces trying to be creative.

But hold on, don’t wrap those fish heads with this page yet, please. Because I’m sincerely asking myself “How did I spend my summer vacation?”

What David wasn't able to do this particular vacation.

I asked the question Monday morning of this week, as I stood in the kitchen making my lunch. I had spent the past week “on vacation” at home. “Gee, this was a good vacation, huh Cindy?” I said in a tone that sought affirmation.

“Uh huh,” she answered, with neutrality.

“I got a lot done, didn’t I,” I continued in the same voice.

“Uh huh,” she answered.

Some people measure vacations by number of fish caught, or tone of suntan, or monuments visited. I gauge mine by amount of work accomplished on our old farmstead.

“Yeah, I weeded the garden, and I painted the screen door and that window trim, and I got the steps half built...” My sentence stopped in the middle of the kitchen.

Cindy stared at me, like theater buff waiting for the performance to continue.

“That’s all I got done?” I asked, now talking to myself as much as my wife “What have I done for the past week?”

“You mowed the grass twice,” Cindy chipped in. I shook my head—mowing grass doesn’t count. It’s too demeaning, and keeps growing back. (I’ll admit it, I hate mowing grass.)

Brand-new Malika, a compelling reason for a 'stay-cation'.

But as I drove to work later that morning, some other parts of my vacation came to mind, things that us work-aholics need to keep in mind. I thought about the evening bike rides with my son sitting behind me, pedaling past cows and farm dogs and trees, then stopping to pick a handful of daisies and black-eyed Susans to give to Momma on our return. I thought about sitting up past bedtime holding a brand-new baby that likes to stay up for ABC’s Nightline on TV, watching her eyelids sag shut after a busy day of drinking-milk, sleeping, and sitting in the kitchen.

I thought about lying in bed well past sunrise, with both kids still sleeping, seeing blue sky reflecting off a drowsy, smiling lady by my side. I thought about a glassy evening on Long Lake, sitting in a canoe with a friend behind, sunfish on the line, and the summer air as yellow and warm as butter in the cupboard.

All right, I even thought about the smell of freshly cut grass, circling a weed-less garden, with blue paint still fresh-looking on the screen door, and the front steps half finished.

That’s how I spent my summer vacation. For a confessed work-aholic, maybe it wasn’t half-bad.

Now you may proceed to wrap those fish heads with this page. Enjoy your vacation.