Astronomically speaking, summer doesn’t end until September 22. On that day, assuming the patterns of the cosmos hold, earth will teeter momentarily in a special alignment with the sun that only comes twice a year. Day and night will be equal everywhere on the planet, Republican will hug Democrat, food will be free and bountiful, your sleep will be perfect, and hangovers will magically disappear. Then, when it’s over, fall will be here, winter will be coming right up, and you’ll need a whole other kind of advice than we’re offering today.
For now, though, you have a month of summer to go—or maybe you have less. There’s the astronomical truth about the season’s duration and then there’s the truth of the temperature outside. Sometimes in Seattle, long before September 22, the temperature tells you that summer is definitely over and maybe never began at all.
There’s also the marketing/road-trip industrial complex truth to consider. Sometimes in Seattle, as everywhere, you believe what you’re told on TV: that summer ends right after you buy an American flag picnic tablecloth and toss it in the back of your Chevy so you can drive several tanks of gas worth of distance, get out, and mark Labor Day with the knowledge that you’ve pumped your share of carbon into the atmosphere and more than your share of calories into your gut.