Time Change

Wow. It’s like summer all of a sudden. Except for the frigid temperature and snow and calendar. With the time change, it’s light until after 8 p.m. Mike worked until 7:30 tonight, fooled by the light into thinking it was much earlier than it was.

That’s what happens in the summer: we just go and go and go because it’s light all the time, and as the saying goes, we’ve got to make hay while the sun shines. On one of my father’s early visits to Alaska we had to drag him out of a creek where he was panning for gold until nearly 11 p.m. “But the sun’s still up!” he said.

Of course it’s darker in the morning. I’m still getting up in the dark, so I can cling to that while I make the seasonal transition. I’m not complaining, really. I love summer. But the passage of time is hard. I think being tied so closely to the seasons makes the passage of time more apparent. On one hand, that’s good, because we see it moving and are aware of it, rather than having it slip by unnoticed. But on the other hand, being so aware of it makes me mourn the time as it rolls by.

Yep, I’m dragging my feet to slow those circles down. Anyone know where that comes from?

Categories: Alaska

5 replies »

  1. Do you feel the same thing when the light begins to ebb in the fall? I wonder if it has something to do with the “cocooning” effect of winer that we discussed before. It’s time for re-emergence (is that a word?) and that means letting go of the past and, in some sense, of yourself. Spring/summer is a time of new efforts, projects, growth, while fall/winter gives the time to reflect on and develop that growth. Growth and activity are exciting and necessary, but there is a reluctance to let go of “now”. Or, I could just be full of it!

  2. I have mourned the passage of time in regard to my children growing up, but not so much the seasonal time passage. Once about 2 years ago I looked into my empty backyard and for a second I flashed back, so clearly, to when my boys were four and two, running in our yard. They looked so small then–and they were–and the yard so big! And in that moment I started to cry uncontrollably. My oldest would leave for college in just two years, and *how* did that precious childhood vanish so quickly? My boys were incredulous at my sentimentality, which helped me to pull myself together again. But it was perhaps the first time I really *felt* how close the end of this time in life really is for me. Maybe all mothers have a moment like that….

  3. I have a 16 year old and I have had a very similar experience- seeing the child that was and the man that isn’t yet, and wondering at how the years have gone by. I think all mothers probably do have moments like that.

  4. Actually, Becca, I think you’re spot on. I do mourn the end of summer and daylight, but not the same way. In the fall, it’s as though some excitement has come to an end. I’m usually a bit tired, though, and welcome the slowing down that seems to occur in winter. I like cocooning.

    Some of this winter-love is because I’m afraid of icy roads so I refuse to go places. Perhaps if I said “no” more often in the summer, I’d feel differently about Eeeeeverything! Now that’s something to think about.

  5. That is food for thought.
    Here, the weather is already getting very warm- doesn’t bode well for summer. (But global warming isn’t really a problem…) Yeah, right. My lilacs are budded and forsythia has already bloomed in spots that get more sun than our yard. The roses are starting to leaf out. Oh, yes, the baby hawks have put in an appearance! They are little bobble-heads next to their parents. Of course, I never have my camera when they are out. Saw a bald eagle Friday. It’s spring, whether I mourn winter or not- and I do a little.