Labor Day Reminiscence; Sweet Memories of Home

The ceremonial Last Day of Summer is here again. Our long Labor Day weekend comes with a flourish as fairs, carnivals and festivals offer a wide variety of music, whimsical entertainment and every imaginable kind of tempting, mouthwatering (and usually unhealthy) treat. Who can resist a deep fried Oreo? Backyard grills are firing up and kids are taking their last dips in pools that will close for the season on Tuesday.

Some of my favorite memories of Labor Day take me back to my childhood in Danville, Illinois. Despite the looming spectre of school starting after the weekend, concerns were muted in part because of the National Sweet Corn Festival which would be in full swing a few miles away in Hoopeston. We could perch at our cousin Martha and Tom Merritt’s house, wander on downtown and fill ourselves with succulent, Supersweet bliss. To those who might chuckle at my glee, you just haven't had corn on the cob until you eat a few dozen ears of Illinois gold. The process of creating culinary perfection involves an antique steam engine and somewhere around 50 tons of sweet corn buttered and salted on conveyor belts delivered for free to ravenous foodies of all kinds. This has been going on since 1938 and shows no sign of demise. There are lots of other activities like carnival rides, a midway, live music, bingo, car shows and lots of beer for grown ups. But nothing makes my mouth water and heart long for home like the good old Sweet Corn Festival.

The days of picnics in the park with speeches by union leaders have gone by the wayside and the labor movement seems to have lost its umph. Jerry Lewis isn't around to entertain-a-thon us any more with various labor organizations raising money for MDA. There is still a glimmer of respect paid to workers at the Labor Day Concert in Washington, DC with fireworks and the National Symphony Orchestra. But so it goes with many of our holidays. We often lose the original intent in favor of our celebration. Perhaps that would be a really good topic for another column. Be that as it may let the good times roll this weekend. Eat a bunch of sweet corn.

Summers’ Last Hope

“Why is summer mist romantic and autumn mist just sad?” ~ Dodie Smith

Many of us resign ourselves that the unofficial last day of summer falls on Labor Day.  Autumn isn’t really here yet of course.  But schools have started, pools have closed, vacations and leisure days have drifted into memory.  To me this is a time-in-between.  It is a liminal experience like twilight.  If we only allow ourselves to appreciate the transition, there might appear a new appreciation of the warmth and lusciousness we experienced while anticipating the brisk splendor to come.

The days are getting shorter and the nights longer.  It is a kind of descending. I suppose that is why a dear friend asked the other day that I not write about the end of summer yet. He reminded me that the Autumnal Equinox was still many days away.  His love of summer is well known to all of us.  But with it comes a loathing of winter.  He dreads what is coming almost to the degree that he sometimes misses Fall all together. Perhaps it is the darkness he fears as if it were the cliff edge of destruction. It represents the losses and grief he has experienced in his life.  He has had enough of both.

I told my friend there is good reason to savor the transition time of what I call Summers’ Last Hopes.  Summer will always return.  And among its’ hopes is that by letting go of the adventures of this season, we will be able to celebrate the arrival of the next. By doing so we can acknowledge who we are, and embrace who we are becoming. We are not alone.  God is with us every step of the way.

Be my trusted guide, Lord

and walk with me from the summer into fall,

walk me through the season's change

and the season changing in my soul.

Robert Kenneth Jones is an innovator in the treatment of addiction and childhood abuse.

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