Summer's Three-Course Meal

I’ve always seen summer as a months-long feast that matured with the season. The first taste of summer was always a crisp, sun-warmed green bean. My mom’s garden held the bulk of our plants, but a green bean patch under a window was all my own. Summer after summer, the green beans would produce first. I learned planning, patience, consistency, and eventually basic math in that 1-foot by 3-foot plot. I’m not a fan of green bean casserole or steamed green beans, but the earthy texture and satisfying snap of a fresh green bean always takes me back to the first few days of summer. When I need a quick infusion of hope and promise, I put a bag of fresh green beans in my cart. With every bite, I bask in the feeling that this is the beginning of brighter carefree days ahead.

Mid-summer plates were filled with reds deeper than the fading sunsets. The shade tree above the picnic table sheltered us from the sun’s relentless heat as we slowed down to eat. Mom would make a small feast for a pack of little sailors, pirates, queens, knights, builders, explorers, or whatever roles we were playing in the world we created that day. Meals were light, so we would have no trouble spreading our wings and soaring into our imaginations when we were finished. More importantly, they were full of juicy fruits and vegetables. Tomatoes, watermelon, and strawberries kept us hydrated in the face of the sun’s parching rays. When I’m feeling withered or wilting, the sweet juice of a watermelon refreshes me like a fresh rain infuses life back into the parched fields. The tangy savor of a tomato sandwich, with the impossibly delicate heartiness and subtle sweetness only a summer vine-ripened tomato can offer, proves that the thankless work of tending empty vines for months eventually pays off. The strawberries were the wildcard, best saved for the meal’s finale. We all knew to reach for the smallest, darkest berry we could find, but even then, we couldn’t be certain it would be sweet. On more than a few occasions, I bit into the tart pale center of a tiny crimson berry. Disappointed, I’ll quickly finish it before side-eying the bowl. Is it worth taking another chance? Inevitably, I'd try again. The reward of finding a jam-sweet berry that melts in your mouth like a cup of ice cream left out in the sun was just too great. Life may be unpredictable, and appearances may be deceiving, but somewhere in the patch, the perfect strawberry was always waiting. If we were willing to push through disappointment and stay persistent in our quest, the sweetest victory was ours.

Summer’s final course came from a pear tree my uncle gave me for my first Easter. The tree quickly outgrew me and began bearing fruit the year I went to kindergarten. In early summer, the tree flowered and tiny pears began budding from the branches. The pears grew larger with every laugh and ray of sunshine on sun-drenched limbs as the days seemed to stretch on infinitely toward the horizon. We never seemed to notice the sun taking longer rests below the hills until we saw the pears reach their full size. Grown pears were the surest sign that school was just around the corner. The harvest was always bitter-sweet. A cool breeze rustled the leaves as we plucked the last vestiges of summer from them. They offered us a sweet, clean, and simple farewell to the fun and magic of our freedom. Meaty and sensible, the pears helped us transition from our unbridled imagination to the practicality of the classroom. Pears did not hold the optimism of a green bean. They did not refresh like a watermelon or reward our efforts like a perfect vine-ripened tomato. Pears most certainly were not wildly unpredictable like a strawberry, but that was part of their charm. After a season of adventure, pears offered a gentle sweetness that ushered us back to reality. Pears were a steadfast companion that could hold for months in the refrigerator. On a good year, they may even follow us into Thanksgiving and Christmas. Pears bridged the gap between unrestrained dreaming and the simple joys of tradition. They’re not flashy, super sweet, or daring. Pears are a constant simple joy as the world around us changes.