Well, we are well and truly in the hot arms of Summer. Here in south Louisiana it’s what I call swamp-time when every day feels sticky like gum in your hair and the afternoon (and sometimes all day) thunderstorms spit all their wild intentions down on all us bitty humans. When the rain stops you never know if the air will be cool or steamy. You never know what’s coming down the road. When I was a kid in Mississippi, I remember summers as being hotter than here, the sun blinding and relentless. I remember daydreaming about oceans and lakes and swimming in cool water as I picked vegetables from the garden, cut the grass in our large yard, or hung out clothes on the line. Later, as an older teen, summer Sundays were for cruising our small town and the lake where everyone went to swim. (After church, of course.) Or visiting my grandparents in another town, listening to the grown ups talk while waiting for the churning of the ice cream to finish for a bowl of it’s homemade goodness. Summer memories.
I’m sharing five stories that embody the spirit of Summer. They’re all quite different but I bet one will remind you of your own summers now or then.
“Summer’s Last Horse (Uintah, 1896)” by Jane Hammons in Brilliant Flash Fiction (Scroll) intrigued me from the first line. The story is about 12 year old Estelle, a young half Cherokee - half Comanche girl spending the summer with her dad on a ranch working with horses. I don’t want to give away too much but I love this story for the details, the eloquence, and the glimpse into a world with which I am unfamiliar. I know the writer is of Native American ancestry which makes the story even more engaging and authentic. I love that there is no ambiguity at all in this prose - it’s a strong story told boldly.
“She was out of school for the summer, too. Permanently out of the Cherokee Female Seminary, where she spent two years hiding and running away and causing trouble that humiliated her mother’s family. The Seminary wasn’t like Fort Sill or Anadarko. It was run by Cherokee for Cherokee.”
“How To Spend a Wednesday” by Annie Marhefka in Whale Road Review is like a long-held breath let loose. It’s a short piece about getting away from the hustle-bustle of city life to a calm and soothing day on the water. Really, what’s more soothing to the soul than a day on a boat on the water? This story is a little slice of peace.
“You let your feet find the dock boards, weathered and splintering and slightly wobbly and you walk the length of the planks. You turn right, find your father at the fourth slip down, unzipping the canopy of his boat, motor already warming up.”
“Seasons” by Elizabeth Brinsfield in Pithead Chapel leads us into a five-year-old’s world of imagination at their summer house on a bay. Imagery is paramount in this piece that left me wondering what the narrator has experienced that created such vivid scenarios in her imagination.
“The house is two down from the dock where skipjacks bring in oysters from the bay. The watermen leave their sails up to dry in light winds and walk home along the paved road. They are regal because of what they do—they are the queen’s hunters.”
“Rotund Heart” by Beth Meko in Still: The Journal. Oh, I enjoyed the hell out of this story! It’s the longest of this group - quite long, in fact - but what a stunner. The voice is strong and rural. This is the type of story you may have heard your grandma or auntie tell while sitting on the porch watching the fireflies in the gloaming. It’s the story of Lou, an elderly woman living alone in the farm house she’s lived in for a very long time, and her new, young neighbors down the road. There’s a lot of action in this story but it unfurls in the most delicious, deliberate way that you just can’t stop reading. This is my kind of story by a new-to-me Appalachian writer (in case you need more Appalachia!) I’ll be looking up more work by Beth Meko.
“It was a wet summer, with violent storms in the afternoons, and the humid days seemed to stick to one another. Lou lazed on the porch a lot and hoped for Marie to come join her, but the girl wasn’t coming over as often now. Probably had a lot to do with that baby on the way.”
“They Called Teri to Bring Over Some Rolling Papers” by Jeff Harvey in Ghost Parachute is the perfect ending to this group of stories. I “know” Jeff and his excellent flash fiction that almost always is southern and/or rural based with a twist of humor. I don’t know that this took place in the summer but it reminded me of summers I spent as a teen doing the things I shouldn’t be doing. It’s just so much fun! (Jeff’s litmag, Gooseberry Pie, is a must-read!)
“After that, they piled into Teri’s van, smoked another joint, and drove to Piggly-Wiggly and bought snacks, vodka, and strawberry room deodorizer. They were short three bucks and had to put back the room deodorizer and butter pecan ice cream.”
On that note, I’m reminded of a favorite Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers song. Enjoy!
… I woke up in between
A memory and a dream … 🎩
Love this Charlotte!