Turn Times Three ...

The Byrds remind us…to every thing there is a season…

One of the (few) things I enjoy about maturing in life is observing the inevitable changing of the seasons. When it’s coming into spring, the warming weather is good for the soul after enduring the long dark days of winter. Then, as the warmth of spring turns to summer, the spectre of picnics, outdoor concerts and so forth seems appealing. However, as I approach more maturity, I think I enjoy most the change of summer into of fall. By the time September arrives, we’re all pretty tuckered out with yard work, pulling weeds, heat and humidity, and look forward to cooler days and earlier evenings. We begin to think about pulling out the reds, and relegate the whites to appetizers or early day imbibing. Salads, grilled fish, chilled soups, and lighter fare begin to give way to food of substance, that daube of beef, your favorite (not the “Best!”) chili recipe is located, perhaps a slow roasted prime rib of beer, and we can enjoy a good hunk of steak (although I will give you that it’s also good in the summertime).

Nature also seems to be weary of the green growing frenzy of summer, and begins to prepare for the winter’s slumber. The green leaves slowly turn to the wonderful hues of autumn, fields display various soothing shades of beige, with different textures. I suppose at this point one could launch into some sort of metaphor on fall and life, but I won’t. I think about it, but we don’t have to discuss it.

Speaking of fall, everyone comes out and does stuff. Great events are everywhere, and step on each other. For instance, tomorrow (9/12) is Woodland Indian Discovery Days at Historic St. Mary’s City, a chance to see how the early Yaocomaco Indians lived and did, with exhibits and activities for all. Toward the other end of the county will be “Wharf Days” in Leonardtown, featuring musical performances, a sail boat race between two local high schools, and I hear a historic boat tour. At Tudor hall, there will be art exhibited, plays presented, and MFO has created a special genealogical exhibit on the (National Anthem) Keys. It was the residence of Phillip Key, father of Francis Scott. Too bad there’s nothing to do in the county. Next weekend will be one of those “Tastes of St. Mary’s County”.

And the subject that won’t die, somebody sent me a link to a review in the Wash Post of a place called “Counter” in Reston. Part of a new chain of burger joints, it features upscale patties where you have to “first choose beef, turkey, veggie or chicken and one of three sizes. Then, there are 10 kinds of cheese -- herbed goat spread, anyone? -- plus 28 toppings, including dried cranberries and fried eggs, and 18 sauces. Some are free, some cost extra. In total, there are more than 312,000 possible combinations.” There's that ubiquitous incredible, edible, egg again!!

On the sporting scene, that tinkling you heard the other night was the glass tennis shoe that fell off the foot of Melanie Oudin at the US Open. NBC hurriedly spent $$$$$ for numerous “Georgia Peach” promos with fuzzy shots of an open mouthed Melanie staring at the firmament, along with the "gleeful mother (a whole other story) interview", announcers fawning about "the kind of kid you want next door!" Well, guess what, she met an opponent other than a brooding Russian, and was excused in a straight set loss, negating the Media's entitlement to the finals. No doubt she has talent, but not yet the savior of women’s tennis in the USA. Remember Michelle Wie….

And I do remember that eight years ago today, I was standing in the radio room in Hazelrigg staring in disbelief at the events that changed our world forever..

DFD