My mother and I were talking on the phone this morning, as we always do on the weekend, and the subject of the chilly weather this morning inevitably came up. We agreed that we didn't like to be cold and we had both turned the heat on upon arising. And then we talked about Junes gone by, and the weather. We didn't remember any hot weather in June, and in fact, every June event we recalled was marked by cool temperatures.
We used to always go to the Peterson Farm in Dighton for either a Memorial Day or Flag Day cookout. And this farm was a real, working farm, not a romanticized, gentrified farm, like mine. The Petersons had chickens, cattle, pigs and a large garden. They slaughtered and ate the poultry and animals and sold the meat, too. My folks sometimes would buy a side of beef, cut into steaks and roasts, and freeze it. I think they bought their first freezer just for this purpose. Anyway, when we went there for the annual barbecue, it would invariably be windy, cool and damp and we always be outside, sitting at picnic tables. No matter how cold it was, there were always flies. After a few years of uncomfortable chilliness forcing us to leave early, we would make sure we had sweaters, winter coats and hats in the car.
One of my memories of June involved swimming lessons when I was in grade school. I was a timid child, and didn't like to get my face wet in the water or swim over my head. Because we lived on the Taunton River, my parents were adamant that all their children would know how to swim and be able to save ourselves should some mishap occur. Swimming lessons started as soon as school ended, always on a Saturday morning at the town beach and I remember my teeth chattering and my lips turning blue. I don't think it was ever above 60 degrees outside and it didn't even matter if it was raining -- no cancellations unless there was a thunderstorm.
My family used to go on vacation in June, too. Usually the last week of June, before the Cape Cod rentals got more expensive for the high summer season, we would go for a week of camping at Nickerson State Park in Brewster. Actually, as I recall, we usually rented a very rustic "cottage", and sometimes my aunt, uncle and cousins would be there, too. We have some old photographs, probably circa 1960, of us older girls in flannel nightgowns, roasting marshmallows over a roaring fire in the massive stone fireplace.
We probably got a little spoiled this year with the May heat wave. Now June is what June should be, the Junes of my childhood. Cool enough to grow some lettuce and peas and to shut the windows before bed, and sunny enough at mid day to warm the earth. Maybe not warm enough for swimming, though.
