Summertime Blues

The crickets sang in the grasses.  They sang the song of summer's ending, a sad, monotonous song.  "Summer is over and gone," they sang.  "Over and gone, over and gone.  Summer is dying, dying."  

The crickets felt it was their duty to warn everybody that summertime cannot last forever.  Even on the most beautiful days in the whole year - the days when summer is changing into fall - the crickets spread the rumor of sadness and change.

Everybody heard the song of the crickets.  Avery and Fern Arable heard it as they walked the dusty road.  They knew that school would soon begin again.  The young geese heard it and knew that they would never be little goslings again.  Charlotte heard it and knew that she hadn't much time left.  Mrs. Zuckerman, at work in the kitchen, heard the crickets, and a sadness came over her, too.  "Another summer gone," she sighed.  Lurvy, at work building a crate for Wilbur, heard the song and knew it was time to dig potatoes.

"Summer is over and gone," repeated the crickets.   "How many nights till frost?" sang the crickets.  "Good-bye, summer, good-bye, good-bye!"

The sheep heard the crickets, and they felt so uneasy they broke a hole in the pasture fence and wandered up in to the field across the road.  The gander discovered the hole and led his family through, and they walked to the orchard and ate the apples that were lying on the ground.  A little maple tree in the swamp heard the cricket song and turned bright red with anxiety.

Heading into our fourth (!!!) year of grade school, I once again here these words from Charlotte's Web in my head and I get teary-eyed at the thought of my oldest going away from us again every weekday.

I hope he had enough fun this summer, made some lasting memories he will remember fondly - amongst the arguing with me and bickering with his brother, and all the terrible chores and projects I made him work on (and paid him for).  I hope he knows how much I love him, despite how much I yell and correct and admonish.  I hope he remembers who he is and how special he is as he walks back onto the bus and into school, where not everyone is interested in being his friend.

I hope he continues to love school and anticipate it eagerly each day, even as the "real" grades start to roll in.  I hope next summer, he's still mostly satisfied to hang out at home with me, and his little brother and little sister (although I know each year he will become increasingly more attached to friends).

I hope that even as he becomes ever more aware and self-conscious about how he interacts with his mama in public (he didn't want to dance with me in front of others at our MOMS Club end-of-summer dance party and shies away from my head rubs and back scratches in church), I hope he will always dance with me at home.

And maybe, just maybe, I hope he'll miss us just a little bit, too.