Hotter than . . .

Sean at rest — Sean, prostrate in the shady green grass in downtown Boston, after having biked 20 miles to get there in blazing heat and oppressive humidity.

This is Sean, my son who recently turned 21. That's his bike beneath his leg. That's the newest Greenway in Boston underneath both Sean and his bike. This was taken about 7p in the evening. Sean, Brenda and I had biked about 20 miles from our house in Billerica to visit the tall ships in the Boston harbor. It was hot, but you didn't notice the heat because the humidity was so uncomfortable. Sean had gone to earth.

I think that if Sean were a dog, he would be a grass-roller. I would be too. Rolling on shaded green grass towards evening on an especially hot and sticky day is a treat.

I'm not precisely sure of the timeline, but something like a few days ago, Sean was six-months old and resting on my chest. The next time I checked, he was nine, and trying to ride his new bike he got as a birthday present. That bike was a tiny bit big, but I figured he would grow into it. And then, I got distracted by something, and when I looked back, Sean was in college. He did "grow into" his first bike. His bike in this picture is specially made, and towers over normal bikes. And that's understandable, since Sean towers above common mortals. He was an amazing kid, and he has become an amazing man. But every dad thinks that about his son. I just happen to be right.

Brenda at the tall ships — That is Brenda in front of one of the tall ships in the Boston Harbor. Same evening, a few blocks from where Sean was prostrate on the grass.

Brenda never looks hot. She never complains. I recently read a book about Cape Cod, and its history from just before Europeans moved in until the present day. These ships put me in mind of the ones which brought the first Europeans. The pilgrims here in Massachusetts weren't the first Europeans to settle in America, of course. The first settlements were in what is Virginia today. But even after the long passage over terrible seas, the Massachusetts pilgrims remained aboard because there was no place on land to live (until they built huts). Plus, the Aboriginal inhabitants were starting to catch on that these pale folks were planning on staying -- which made them less welcoming.

Looking up at these ships, and imagining what the between-decks must have smelled like after weeks at sea, makes my head spin; my stomach, too. Then add in the heat and humidity, and it starts to look very, very bad. But they didn't complain (we're told). I think that Brenda would have fit right in. She would have brought in pails of fresh water, washed the detritus from the between-decks, made the sick comfortable, and never complained.

Great companions, these two. As a reward for biking with me in the heat, I treated to a completely satisfactory dinner at a nearby restaurant. We were seated by ourselves, right next to a large open window. They did't crowd us in with other diners, though the place was packed. Life is always better off upwind.

And then we took the train home -- biking the last few miles in pitch dark with no lights, thanks to my lack of foresight. As autumn arrives (season of mists and mellow fruitfulness), I have these memories close at hand for the coming snow: rolling on the cool, green grass, staring up at tall ships, and a remarkable evening with two terrific people.