Immy Humes and her father "Doc Humes"

As August comes to an a close, everyone seems in a last minute panic to celebrate summer.  Amanda asks me to come to a mid-week celebration of cantaloupe.  A retired psychotherapist, Amanda plays daily tennis at the local club and keeps a large flock of chickens she calls “the girls.”  Her melons are big, juicy and still warm from the sun.  Four of us sit at her kitchen table to feast and gab.  A discussion of world politics mixes with sticky orange-colored juice run down chins. 

Immy, a film maker, has just completed a film about her father, the author H.L. Humes.  Annalou, her mother and a retired bank executive, spends summers in Stonington and plays host to five daughters and their families at a rambling white house surrounded by tall shade trees, lawn, and well-tended gardens.  We assess the growing season as a woodpecker swops in for seed for the patio feeder.

Terrible year for tomatoes,” Annalou complains.  “Haven’t had a good one.”

“But these melons have loved it.”  Amanda says.

“We’re due for more rain,” I add.  “Ernesto passes off the coast this weekend.  Solemn nods accompany this piece of news.  It’s hurricane season. We all know the heat and humidity will continue.  Storm clouds will gather.  Sheets of lightening may brighten the sky.  Down spouts will be overwhelmed with tropical rain. But if the storm remains offshore, we will be spared the full threat of a hurricane.