by Meg Ulrich

So, my friends, we have come to the end of another Adirondack summer. Maybe we should call it the summer that wasn’t and stick that sucker right in our record books alongside the winter that wasn’t from a couple years back.
There were not an abundance of beach days and a sparse sprinkling of sunshine was all we really got. Everything has been damp since May; even the forest fungi were waterlogged. There’s mossy, mildewy, moldy, saturated nonsense everywhere. I long ago lost track of how many times I turned the clothes dryer on for ‘five more minutes’ just to get that dampness out. Hanging stuff to dry wasn’t even a thing this summer; there was no drying or airing out of anything going on. Everything is just…prepare yourselves for one of the worst words ever…moist.
The good news is that I probably evened out on my electric bill with the constant use of the dryer because I didn’t use the air conditioner; bad news is that I’ll now have a setback, as I am about five minutes from turning the heat on in the house. It should be warmed up and dried out in here by Thanksgiving.
As I type this, the campers and fifth wheels are rolling down the road and the trailered boats are heading south on Route 28; followed by the minivans with pink Huffy bikes strapped to their tailgates and the Subarus with kayaks on their roof racks. They’re taking their summertime gear and getting out of Dodge. I sometimes think I should stand by the train trestle in Thendara and wave, but I’m afraid the temptation to wave inappropriate things would be too great and that the summer-worn police would have to cart me off. They are tired and I don’t blame them; the months of illegal fireworks and truck bed fornication will take a toll on a person’s patience.
There has been an exceptional amount of strange behavior during the past several months. Maybe it was the weather, perhaps the eclipse, but it seemed like a whole busload of bizarre got dropped off in town on a daily basis. We have enough of our own interesting and often unexplainable sideshows here, thanks; kindly try to behave yourselves when you enter.
Usually we, as a whole, don’t reach the brink until at least August and can hang in there until Labor Day has come and gone. We exhale with the last kaboom of the last firework on the last official day of summer. But, jeez Louise, everywhere I went, people were dazed and glassy-eyed by July; like one more ridiculous question might send them reeling or running screaming up the middle of Main Street.
We are a patient people; a tolerant and empathetic group. We muddle through when we gots to, but this summer was just about the most unbalanced circus of a thing I’ve ever encountered. Alas, our respite has now come! Thanks for coming, valued guests! Now put your pants on, pack up your fireworks and close the door on your way out. We need a nap to get ourselves rested and ready for soccer and leaf-peepers.
Hasta luego. Sayonara. Au revoir. Turn the sign and hit the lights; it’s another one in the books, folks.