Bring on the dog days of August

CHERRIL DOTY

Dog days and blackberries. Scuffing my feet through the dry summer

dust of a hot August afternoon, I wound my way through the trees to

the edge of the orange grove.

A mass of vines covered in dark blackberries waited for me there.

I would move to the vines with juicy anticipation filling my mouth

and then savor that first one before picking all I could see for my

bucket. Then, having exhausted the fruit at the surface, I would

plunge my arms into the thickness of the vines, heedless of the sharp

thorns that raked my skin, drawing blood. This was a special time.

Soon the blackberries would be gone, the summer would be done, and I

would languish in a classroom only able to stare outside with

longing.

That was part of a childhood summer. The hot sun on my back, sweat

trickling down my neck, the powdery red dust sitting light on my

skin, I awaited any light breeze that might appear. Large black crows

circled overhead with nothing better to do than raise their hoarse

voices to each other as they plied the groves. I, too, had nothing

better to do -- nowhere to go and seemingly nothing to do. Yet the

days were rich and full. The term “dog days of summer” that I

sometimes heard adults use meant nothing to me. This was the best

time.

The expression “dog days” remains in usage after more than 20

centuries. The phrase originated in Roman times as “days of the dog”

--Canicularis dies. The astronomical term referred to the dog star

Sirius (or possibly Procyon), which the Romans linked to the sultry

summer heat. It was thought that the rising of the Dog Star -- the

most brilliant star in the Canis Major constellation -- added to the

extreme heat of the sun to create the sweltering summer days. We

continue to use the term even though the belief upon which it was

based was long ago disproved.

Even though our summer here has not been a torrid one, I have

found myself using the term “dog days” in the past week or so as the

gray days with their languid humidity “drip like honey off a spoon,”

as author Wallace Stegner said. Whatever happened to that “best time”

of my childhood when nothing to do and nowhere to go was so much more

than enough? What became of those days without end and the full

enjoyment of them and whatever they contained?

It may just be the fault lies with the daily gray cast of the

skies. I know. I know -- we are so lucky here compared to living in

so many other places. A nice onshore flow leaves us the gray clouds

throughout much of each day. The easy, cool evenings. Nights when we

can sleep under blankets and dream deeply. Morning walks on the beach

without sunglasses or hat. Barbecuing without roasting yourself.

Comfortable. Easy. No Hurricane Charley leaving behind the swelter of

true dog days as in Florida. No thunderstorms like the ones hitting

our mountains and deserts, leaving these areas steamy and hot. But I

like the sun. I long for the warm touch of it, the sparkle on water.

Even the crows seem to be quieted, their raucous cries infrequently

heard.

The sun, even with the summer heat of it, seems to get us all

fired up, gives us energy. Nowhere to go and nothing to do are just

easier with sunshine on them. I say bring on the dog days!

Meanwhile, the warring in Iraq plods on. Politicians snipe at

opponents and boast of their own endearing attributes. Olympics play

on in an arena where, for the most part, healthy competition takes

the place of enmity and strife. And the dog days plod on. I think

I’ll just fix myself a bowl of store-bought blackberries and sit down

to watch women’s gymnastics while I wait for the sun to come out.

* CHERRIL DOTY is a creative life coach and artist. You can reach

her by e-mail at [email protected] or by calling (949) 251-3883