Summer officially ends this week.
At 8:05 Tuesday night, to be exact.
That’s when the autumnal equinox arrives and, astronomically speaking, fall begins.
Just like that.
No vote.
No two-week notice.
No going-away party.
One minute it’s summer. The next minute it’s fall.
I’ve always found that a little suspicious.
Because I can look outside and nothing seems particularly different.
The trees haven’t suddenly exploded into orange and red.
Nobody comes around collecting swimming pools.
And unless Indiana weather has changed dramatically, there’s a pretty fair chance we’ll still get another 87-degree day before October.
That’s the thing about seasons.
The calendar gets to make an official ruling.
The weather does whatever the hell it wants.
We like neat boundaries.
Summer starts here.
Fall starts here.
Winter starts here.
Spring starts here.
It gives us the comforting impression that somebody is in charge.
But Indiana has never shown much respect for organization.
We can have frost in April, 80 degrees in October and all four seasons sometime between breakfast and supper.
Still, something does change around now.
Not all at once.
Quietly.
The mornings feel different.
It gets dark earlier than you think it should.
High school football games start feeling like high school football games instead of August track meets with shoulder pads.
You begin seeing combines in the fields.
A few leaves show up in the yard before you’re ready for them.
That may be how seasons really change.
Not by date.
By accumulation.
One little thing after another.
Summer doesn’t end because the Earth reaches the proper spot in its trip around the sun.
At least not to us.
It ends when the swimming pool starts looking more like maintenance than recreation.
It ends when the furnace kicks on for the first time and produces that distinctive smell that makes you briefly wonder whether the house is on fire.
And even then, summer usually comes back for a couple of days just to mess with us.
I think that’s why this week has always felt a little strange to me.
It’s not really summer anymore.
It’s not quite fall yet.
It’s both.
Football is underway, but baseball isn’t finished.
You can buy mums and sunscreen on the same trip.
It’s the overlap.
And maybe that’s why I like this particular stretch of the year.
Not because the weather is perfect.
And definitely not because I’m anxious to see winter coming.
It’s because for a brief period, we get to stand in two seasons at once.
There’s still enough summer left to sit outside in the evening.
But there’s enough fall in the air to know those evenings are numbered.
That changes the way you appreciate them.
In July, another warm evening is nothing special.
There will be another one tomorrow.
In late September, you start to understand that you may not have many left.
So maybe you sit outside a little longer.
Maybe you take the long way home with the windows down.
Not because it’s summer.
Not because it’s fall.
Just because it’s now.
The calendar can call it whatever it wants.