MY FAVORITE MINI-SEASON

STRAWBERRY SEASON Means 5-6 Weeks of Bliss.

A late-May Lake Ontario sunset over my Mother-in-Law's backyard pool, twin fawns in our

backyard "birthing center," and gorgeous, luscious strawberries at our local market.

In reality, when it comes to "seasons" we don't necessarily limit ourselves to simply spring, summer, autumn, and winter; sometimes it makes sense to divide our calendars into "mini-seasons." For instance, spring is neatly halved into early spring (April) and late spring (May), while autumn entails the back-to-school rush, followed by foliage season, the Halloween-to-Thanksgiving continuum, and then finally holiday season. (Alas, winter is pretty much just winter, perhaps divisible into ski season and mud season.) My personal favorite mini-season is early summer, the six- or seven-week run from the Tuesday after Memorial Day through the 3rd of July. I like to think of it as STRAWBERRY SEASON.

Here are my favorite highlights--

THE FIRST HEAT WAVE

Less than a month after the last bud-killing frost, we often experience the year's first real heat wave. The mercury surges into the nineties, turning the residual moisture from April rainfall to steam. We wilt and sag as the last memories of winter's chill are seemingly flushed from our bodies as sweat. In such weather fine wine appreciation is nearly impossible... but then the pink wines we wine snobs otherwise eschew step forward to slake our thirst. In the highest ranges of heat and humidity, rosé wine is the œnological equivalent of watermelon-- cool, pink, and refreshing-- and we gulp it without shame.

LATE SUNSETS (AND EARLY SUNRISES)

Summer officially begins on the Summer Solstice (June 21st in 2026) which is the one day every year with the maximum hours of possible sunshine. The farther north one lives, the greater the difference between the longest and the shortest day; and the farther west in a given time zone, the later the sunset. And so in upstate New York where I live, Strawberry Season twilight lingers well past 10:00pm. Meanwhile, 400 miles to the east (where I wake up four mornings each week) an hour of Rochester's lingering twilight is exchanged for an hour of bright Boston daylight beginning just after 5:00am.

FAWNS

With Memorial Day comes the beginning of fawn-birthing season. I've heard many a theologian opine that either everything is a miracle, or nothing is. Annually witnessing in our own backyard the creation of life as heart-stoppingly adorable as infant deer seems absolutely miraculous to me. In a related story, I also believe that I might have once personally witnessed an even more amazing fawn-related miracle-- on Mother's Day a few years ago I was driving the overnight shift through pre-dawn Massachusetts when I came upon a grisly accident scene, the aftermath of what we euphemistically call "suicide by truck." I had to sit parked in the road for hours while the coroner's crew gathered the remains of what had just been a living, breathing human. But then shortly after sunrise a fireman suddenly emerged from the mist with a trembling newborn fawn in his arms. This was still a few weeks short of fawn season, and I didn't see a mother doe (dead or alive) anywhere in the area. Did I just witness an actual reincarnation? Part of me believes to this day that I possibly had.

STRAWBERRIES

Is there another fruit anywhere that approaches the eye appeal of the strawberry? One might think of strawberries as Mother Nature's messages of pure joy-- fire-engine-red and heart-shaped, they look like love itself; deliciously sweet, yet never too sweet... tangy enough to taste like they are good for you. Perhaps best of all, they attain the gastronomic equivalent of eternal life when preserved as jam... a jar of late spring sunshine to brighten one's breakfast toast on a frigid February morn.

FIREFLIES

A few species of flying beetles evolved with the ability to generate a greenish light to attract mates. They are most active mid- to late-June, and a joy to behold in the post-sunset mist of a summer swelter. The delightful sight of a field full of fireflies might not sound very impressive in this age of instant connectivity and streaming on demand, but their lovely light show has intrigued humans for several millennia.

FRESH WILD SALMON SEASON

The Alaskan commercial salmon fishing season begins in late May. In the qualitative hierarchy of wild salmon, Alaska's Copper River corresponds to winedom's Napa Valley, with a reputation for top quality and name recognition disproportionate to its actual level of production. (Napa Valley yields just 4% of California's wine gallonage, while the Copper River is responsible for less than 2% of Alaska's annual catch.) Whether from the Copper River or elsewhere, Sockeye Salmon is more brightly colorful and more strongly flavored than the regal King Salmon. Both are worth a special search... and the high price.

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As a child, I never imagined it possible to dislike anything about summer. As an adult, however, summertime's novelty usually wears off by Bastille Day. Cicadas replace the fireflies, their high-pitched drilling sound a metaphor, perhaps, for midsummer's relentless heat. By August our lawn, so lushly emerald in May, is parched beige by rainless weeks in the mid-nineties. We come to resent the sun itself-- that incessant, spirit-crushing, mid-summer sun-- as we grow increasingly lethargic beneath its pounding rays, and sunsets bring no refreshing coolness. Relief seems cruelly distant as we pine for that first delicious, cider-like whiff of autumn.