Back in the day, a group called The Lovin’ Spoonful recorded a tune called Summer in the City. I know all the words to the song, because summer is precious when you live where there is winter. The farther north you live in the Midwest, the more you appreciate summer.
In Southeast Iowa and Missouri there are four complete seasons every year. People there have fall and spring wardrobes, because there is enough time during the fall and the spring to actually wear them. In Northeast Iowa and Minnesota, we adjust by adding or removing a sweater on those days that feel either warmer or nippier in the afternoon than they were in the morning. The concept of heavy sweatshirts or sweaters worn with a pair of shorts demonstrates the schizophrenic temperature patterns unique to the Upper Midwest.
In the rural Midwest, things don’t get lazy in the summer. Unless one is a pre-schooler, the chances of grabbing a little kick-back time diminish rapidly, just before the switch to daylight savings time. By the time school lets out, country folk are in full swing. Things don’t let up for the 4-H-ers until after the county fair, and for some, not until after the state fair, an event which also heralds in another school year. We are talking about busy and happy summer memories. “Work” is a relative term, and productive work from the heart and soul explains a farmer’s smile.
Living in small rural communities gives townsfolk an enormous appreciation for all the smiley-work the farmers do. In fact, in 1909, the city of Calmar couldn’t contain itself, and they organized a day to honor the work of the local farmers, and the business people who worked overtime to keep them going. A few years ago, Calmar Farmers’ Days ran a momentary risk of disappearing, but a few Calmar residents recognized how important it was to continue this annual homage. Members of The Calmar Commercial Club breathed new life into the event, and it’s bigger than before. The danger of not celebrating 100 years of Farmers’ Days is behind them. Traditions like these are the glue in small towns. We don’t usually throw out our aging traditions; we re-glue and clamp them.
Summer is busy in town, too, but it’s a different kind of busy. Getting up early and being outdoors releases the soul from its winter hibernation. Cuddling up, which felt so homey and comforting a few months ago, is replaced with joining hands and running outside. Gardens take time, as do fix-up projects, volunteer work on festival committees and summer sports activities, and whatever else we see that needs a helping hand. A group of local artists recently offered a Fairy Home Tour to support PAW (People for Animal Welfare) develop an animal shelter in Winneshiek County. The artists were busy building homes for the diminutive home tour, the organizers getting the whole thing planned, and the supporters took time to be loyal patrons of small town efforts.
In our neighborhood, we look around at ways to share our outdoor freedom. At the fair I ran into one of my across-the-alley neighbors. “My wild flowers have gone, well, wild, this summer, and please come over and take whatever you want. There are plenty for all of us to enjoy.” The neighborhood picnic is coming up, and we’ll have a rare chance relax with familiar faces that usually only exchange a wave and a holler.
This summer has held one unexpected pleasure. It’s kind of a corny little evolution of events that developed mish-mashy, stemming from an unthinkable tragedy. In March, a beautiful 36-year-old wife and mother of four young children, Gloria Ormord, collapsed and died at home in the early morning hours. It was one of those community-stunning occurrences, a healing that takes years to accomplish, though it is never fully done. Both town and country have offered what can be offered. Replacing what has been lost isn’t possible.
I wanted to spend some time doing creative, fun things with Gloria’s daughters. They are lively and precious beyond words, and my empty nest needed some occupants. Coincidentally, another friend commented that she wished her daughter could spend some time with me, because she likes doing the things I do. My friend felt a bit out of water in my arena. Hmmmm. Her daughter is the same age as one of Gloria’s. This is beginning to sound like fun, my emotions told my brain. My brain said it was thinking the same thing.
Our first day resulted in all of us getting matching flip-flops with Tootsie Rolls® on them, and by the end of the day we were calling ourselves “The Tootsie Chicks”. We have grown in size some since that first day, adding a new full-time member and an extended Tootsie Family of six more. Hubba is our mascot – he’s such a good sport, and lets us do all sorts of humiliating Tootsie adornments of him in pink. Please don’t tell him I told you.
The Tootsie Chicks meet once a week. There are no rules. We figure if someone acts up too much, we just won’t pick her up the next time. So far, everyone’s been safe. We make crafts out of our Tootsie Rolls® wrappers, we try to do something nice for other people, and we even made a fairy house for the PAW fundraiser. It’s not all fun, you know. Sometimes it’s crazy fun!
The Lovin’ Spoonful’s song reprieves itself in my head again this year. The words don’t even hold true for rural summer lives, but I sing them anyway. Summer songs make us feel good, and when I get to the lines, “Come-on come-on and dance all night, Despite the heat it'll be alright”, I can delete my winter memories and paste in my summer ones. Summer in town, with the Tootsie Chicks.
Copyright © Kari E.O. Burns July 2006
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