Can You Hear Me Now

I feel the taste of summer’s last kiss
a fond farewell
a sad goodbye
her warm embrace wears scarlet wings
riding retreat on cool autumn breezes

Andrew Prokop

It’s barely September and yet I feel the mutterings of autumn. The sun is slightly lower in the sky. The sumacs are already turning red and orange. The loons have begun molting from their striking black and white checkerboard to a dull winter gray. There is a chill in the morning air that wasn’t felt a few short weeks ago. The big changes have yet to come, but the little ones are everywhere.

Growing up in Arizona, autumn was little more than an afterthought. We went from summer to winter and basically skipped autumn. If it wasn’t for the construction paper leaves I made in elementary school, it would not have registered at all to young Andrew.

Not so here in Minnesota. Not only is autumn a bona fide season, it’s arguably the best three months of the year. Summer’s heat and humidity are gone, the maples put on a spectacular Technicolor pageant, the apple trees are flush with ripe fruit, and hot chocolate is back in vogue. Just ask my heat-sensitive wife. She looks forward to September from June on.

And yet, I find myself struggling with the transition away from summer. I start counting the remaining biking days. I dread having to replace my shorts with long pants. I think about everything I hoped to accomplish during the summer months, but never got around to doing.

It’s true, though, that I look forward to what they call here in Minnesota, “good sleeping weather.” At the same time, I lament the loss of a hot and sweaty ride. I can appreciate the beauty of fall color while wishing it would stay green for a while longer. For whatever reason, I am able to comfortably hold these opposite truths at the same time.

Rip and Replace

These transitions are not limited to the weather.

Until very recently, the Detroit Lakes Pavilion was a short bike ride from our family compound on Lake Sallie. Built in 1915, the Pavilion was a generational gathering place for folks in northwestern Minnesota and eastern North Dakota. In addition to countless weddings and family reunions, it hosted musical acts that ranged from Bobby Vee to the short-lived Yardbirds that contained both Jimmy Page and Jeff Beck. That alone makes it worthy of a footnote in rock ‘n’ roll history.

Fun fact. The Page-Beck incarnation of the Yardbirds only played 31 shows in the United States before Jeff left the group. Having them play in the tiny town of Detroit Lakes is almost unthinkable and yet on August 8th, 1966, the unthinkable occurred.

Sadly, the Pavilion was torn down last month as part of a rebuild of the city’s public shoreline. I knew it was coming, but seeing the now-empty lot still came as a shock to me. My eyes kept searching for the distinctive red awning even as my heart told them it was not coming back.

The crazy part is that I don’t believe I ever stepped inside the building. I’ve looked through the windows and open doors many times, but my feet have never crossed the threshold. No wedding reception invitations for me.

Happenings ten years time ago
Situations we really know
But the knowing is in the mind
Sinking deep into the well of time
Sinking deep into the well of time

From “Happening Ten Years Time Ago” by Jeff Beck, Jimmy Page, Keith Relf, and Jim McCarty

Rather than missing something that was a significant part of my own life, I am missing something that was part of the collective lives of the many people who enjoyed what the Pavilion had to offer over the years. I have inherited the memories of the people who danced at the sock hops, fell in love to the sounds of Bobby Vee, and shared their marital vows within the Pavilion’s walls. Their experiences have crept into my psyche, and rather than feeling pain over the loss of a building, I am mourning the passing of an era.

Not My First Rodeo

Having grown up in Scottsdale, Arizona, I know all about change. The year I was born, the population of Scottsdale was less than 10,000 people. It’s now somewhere north of 240,000.

The changes from then to now are too numerous to count. My elementary school has mostly been torn down and what is left has been repurposed into an art studio. My high school was totally razed and rebuilt. I have witnessed dairy farms turn into housing developments, desert land plowed and watered into golf courses, and modest neighborhoods demolished to make way for McMansion housing.

You would think that I would be used to change by now, but that is far from the truth. As Stephen Sondheim wrote in Sunday in the Park with George, “I miss the old views.”

The views…the music…the people…the places. I catch nostalgia like a cold.

Moving On

While I know that I will miss seeing the Detroit Lakes Pavilion, I expect that something more useful will appear in its place. The 111-year-old structure was rich in nostalgia while being poor in modern electrical wiring, insulation, and plumbing. The memories held up better than the leaky roof, and tearing it down made the most sense.

Going forward, I will immerse myself in the splendor of autumn even as I bemoan the passing of summer. My history has been one of reluctant adaptation as I eventually find my way to acceptance.

Weep not that the world changes – did it keep a stable, changeless state, it were cause indeed to weep. William Cullen Bryant

Basically, it all comes down to this. I will miss biking and I will enjoy snowshoeing. I will be sad when I can’t sleep with the windows open and I will cherish snuggling close to Linda in order to stay warm. I will miss watching Minnehaha Falls roaring with life and I will marvel at seeing it frozen over.

I will also immerse myself in change as I witness the constant evolution of my four grandchildren. They continually amaze and surprise me with how quickly they are mastering life. My world moves at a snail’s pace compared to theirs and I am blessed to be a part of their perpetual transformation. I would like to say that they keep me young, but in reality, they wear me out. In a good way, of course.

Grandchildren are the dots that connect the lines from generation to generation. Lois Wyse

If I have learned one thing in life, it is that nothing is permanent — not buildings, not seasons, and especially not people. Everything here today will be gone on some near or distant tomorrow. Sometimes the reasons are good. Sometimes not so much. That is just how it goes. It is my choice whether to hold onto the past or transition, reluctantly or not, into whatever comes next. For me, it will always be a little of both.

P.S. The photograph at the top of this meditation is from last Thursday’s partial lunar eclipse. Watching the Moon’s transition from bright white to copper red was truly magical and my iPhone image only hints at what it was like seeing the eclipse in person.

Thank you for reading.

As the summer sun settles deep into the southern sky
and the winds of September taunt and tease
like a reluctant virgin who cannot make up her mind

As the days compress
and the fingers of night lengthen and grow
I find myself lost in the in-between
of seasons
of life
of the before and what has yet to be

A slow and pondering transition
from then to a now
still shadowed and hazy