Make It Real, Your Summer Dream (Safely)

We are conditioned to associate summer with freedom and happiness, but in Tacoma, summer delirium is taken to fanatic levels. We cram festival after festival into every potentially partly-sunny weekend, each a frantic contingency for those previous. We drag out our kayaks, our hiking boots and our running shoes with a fierce determination that foreigners might mistake for grim madness. Our calendar is spring-loaded — soon, reality will return with a steely SNAP! and all our capricious summer follies will be ended by a steady pall of clouds.

Though time may not be on our side, we must temper with caution our glee for the natural beauty that surrounds Tacoma. I learned this lesson on the weekend of July 4th. I took my wife and son for a walk along Owen Beach at Point Defiance Park. We strayed far north of the picnic areas, where the beach narrows against the cliffside and the long, low tree branches skim the water. My wife and I pressed forward, on a mission to soak in as much of the briny sunshine as we possibly could. My son meandered behind us, entranced by every dead jellyfish and gnarled log.

Our short trek was idyllic; that is, until I called back to my son, “Hurry up! There’s so much more beach to see!” He hopped off a log and raced forward to catch up with us. Unfortunately, he had not read this article, and did not exercise caution. He ran toward me with gusto, until abruptly clotheslined by a low bough. Sprawled on the sand, he was momentarily convinced the beach was a place of treachery and violence.

He survived his injury and quickly returned to his happy meandering. Our lesson learned, my wife and I walked more slowly. We did not rush to the next shady alcove, but enjoyed each as if we had all the time in the world. Sea lions frolicked not far off, and I heard one of them barking the tune of “Don’t Worry, Be Happy.”

So, these balmy weeks are fleeting. It won’t be long before my iced Americano order is met with a barista’s pitying scorn – “Let it go. It’s over.” I’ll touch the last traces of a sunburn on the bald spot on my head, and reminisce about the picnic it represents. I’ll show my “tan” to my friends, and they’ll pretend they see it. I’ll do the same for them. It’s how we keep from surrendering to the darkness.