Labor Day 2022

For years the arrival of Labor Day signaled the end of summer and foretold the opening of the school year. There were many years when I anticipated these occurrences with eagerness and expectation. Over the years this sense of expectancy had declined and when it finally bottomed out about five years ago I retired from the game. I have not regretted this decision. Though Labor Day will be celebrated on Monday, I do not require a respite from work because contentedly I no longer labor.

Today, nevertheless, Labor Day still means the end of summer and requires adjustments. Whereas for months I awoke with the sun already arisen, today I note that the sun has not yet appeared when I do arise. Though the temperature during these latter days remains high I sense a certain crispness even in the mid-afternoon heat, even though the sensation might occurs only in my imagination. The body remembers. As Labor Day approaches, the daylight declines earlier, the air begins to taste of Fall, and I hear the squirrels scurrying about with increased activity searching for food and materials for the building of their winter nests.. Now, at day’s end the dark descends earlier and earlier, and I know that the Fall colors will soon begin to paper the air and the Fall rains will eventually push the now-wearied leaves from the trees. On Labor Day I begin to organize the books I will read and even study over the Winter.

Though Labor Day also means other things to me now. For example, I can now take my corduroy trousers out of storage. I am happy to do so because I am most comfortable in this clothing style, something having to do with the weight of the material perhaps. After Labor Day I can return to donning long sleeve, even flannel shirts, again the preferred sartorial choice for much of my adult life. Soon, the crispness of the morning air will necessitate closing the bathroom door when I shower so as to hold in the steamy warmth in the room for when I must finally (even regretfully) leave the enclosed, protected space of the stall. To celebrate Labor Day the radio stations to which I subscribe will offer a playlist of songs appropriate for the day,—from Utah Phillips, Pete Seeger, Hazel Dickens, Woody Guthrie, Rosalie Sorrells, and so many more. There will be marches: when I lived in New York I would bicycle down to 59^th Street to attend the Labor Day Parade. I remember one year when the Air Traffic Controllers marched up Fifth Avenue even as Reagan fired them and decertified their Union for striking.

The weather means to deceive me: it is warm and sunny today and will remain so through the weekend. But I am not long fooled. I have enjoyed this summer despite the pandemic and my recent bout with Covid, the wars fought all over the world, the fascistic politics that the Republican Party promulgates, and despite my fears for their takeover of the Congress. I despair the presence of an obviously criminal former President, and the ignorant acceptance by too many millions of his criminal behaviors, despicable lies and repulsive rhetoric. There will arrive a dangerous chill to the air. 

And today I think of lines from a Joni Mitchell song: “I’d like to call back summer time/And have her stay another month or so/But she’s got the urge for going/And I guess she’ll have to go.”