08 July 2014
Looking up Dry Gulch-some cartographer had a sense of humor-toward the Roof of the World...
It was a deja vu of two years ago the other day at Miguel Loco's shoppe. It was but one day off the actually calendar date, if one wanted to split linear hairs. The joint was jumping and the roadways were packed. Someone asked if it was exclusive to the just past holiday. I shot Miguel Loco a flippant look before answering for him.
"July," I said simply, delivering the revelation. My friend smirked and the traveler I had spoken to looked confused. Neither was surprising.
Miguel Loco's long ago proclamation of milk and honey is very apt for July. On a single weekend day, a merchant can make what they might get in a week during the doldrums of January or February. This is when the marathons and bicycle races and festivals begin to really pick up steam. July is the intercourse to June's foreplay.
The ticks have gone away by July, but the mosquitoes appear, their ferocity dictated by the amount of runoff. We sit outdoors with insect repellent and bullets, ready for the little fuckers. The mosquitoes disappear in mid to late August, and it is the first omen of the impending autumn. For July, we fight and curse them, just to be outside in summer's warm embrace.
July is hot sun and monsoon. Almost nightly chimeneas or bonfires and margaritas with the neighbors. Dining alfresco and cooking anything you can with fire. Nights warm enough you can lay on the bare ground to look up at the stars, but cool enough you don't need a fan when trying to sleep. Everything is in full green and full bloom come July.
I love July for all of these reasons. I hate it for how crowded it can be, whether on a town street during a weekday or out on a trail. At my professional obligations, there's barely a moment to catch my breath, and I come home either torn and tired and murdered or really wanting a cocktail. Sometimes both. I catch myself mourning the sometimes agonizing quiet of deep winter.
Be that as it may, we embrace this stretch of days that have been named July and ride that snake's tale for all it's worth. It is indeed milk and honey in its halcyon countenance. The feasting time. We hold on so tightly, because like water spilling through closed fingers, it is gone too quickly, leaving just bittersweet memories to savored until the same stretch of days next year.