Make the best of a blighted summer

“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?” Well now, Mr. Shakespeare, sir, that all depends. You mean this summer? This blighted summer of the coronavirus pandemic and its associated cancellations and shutdowns and pale imitations?

The summer that music festivals across the country died? The summer that cancelled the Olympics and Wimbledon? The summer that scuppered even that tough old son-of-agun, the Calgary Stampede? Is that the summer you have in mind? The one that kiboshed concerts at the Rogers Centre, Scotiabank Arena and the Budweiser stage? That shelved the Caribbean Carnival and Pride parades? That silenced ballparks and soccer stadiums?

The summer that grounded air traffic? That rendered Europe as distant as Mars? That robbed legions of university graduates of the ritual backpack tour of the continent? Compare us to a summer day? The summer following the April and May in which it snowed?

The summer in which murder hornets haunt our nightmares? Not likely, your Bardship. Not likely. And while we’re at it, spare us that sweet observation that “summer’s lease hath all too short a date.”

In this country, we know that. We know it all too well. Even in the best of times. Which these are not.

Here in Canada, the Victoria Day holiday in May has long been seen as the unofficial start of summer, the time for opening cottages, for downing convertible tops, for donning flip-flops, for reuniting sunshine and bare skin.

Normally, this weekend means the restoration of colour to the landscape, the definitive shrugging off of winter’s constraints and foul-weather togs, the freeing of spirits and unleashing of wanderlust.

Summer used to mean possibility, open roads, chance encounters, travelling light, sudden romance.

Now, borders are closed, options are limited, and people are looking at each other altogether differently.

Cottage owners are about as welcome in Ontario lake country as a leaking septic tank. First Nations have been urged not to reopen to outsiders. Tourists from elsewhere in the country are considered undesirable aliens in any of Canada’s ocean playgrounds, even if they own property there.

Why, show up in Newfoundland, a place so normally hospitable that come-from-aways are celebrated in smash Broadway hits, and the constabulary will escort you to the ferry back to the mainland faster than you can say, “Sure, I’ll kiss the cod!”

This is shaping up to be the summer in which there isn’t much to do. The summer where there aren’t many places to go. The summer that fun forgot.

So, all around Toronto and in precincts beyond, government leaders have been polishing up their rose-coloured glasses.

When it was announced that even the Canadian National Exhibition — the long-standing unofficial end of summer around Toronto — had been scrapped for the first time since the Second World War, Mayor John Tory said the shutdown of the Ex actually provides a splendid opportunity to reinvent the old fair.

Tory is not alone in looking on the bright side, in trying to turn our bumper crop of citrus products into something drinkable.

Even the old grey lady, the New York Times, recently counselled that while summer rituals won’t be the same as usual, they should certainly not be abandoned.

The Times called for opening up beaches and pools with appropriate social distancing, for keeping parks and gardens accessible, for experimenting with street closures to facilitate walking and biking and, say, al fresco dining and small-scale concerts from balconies and rooftops.

It recommended renewed appreciation for fishing and birdwatching, dance parties in the street, and a return of drive-in movie theatres that were once a summer staple.

That retro theme has been echoed in other published musings on the simple delights of old-time summers, those sepiatoned seasons recalled in song as lazy, hazy, crazy days of soda and pretzels and beer.

How this will all be received by Generation Screen is not immediately clear.

But among suggestions for vintage summer delights are: running through sprinklers, making ice-cream or popsicles at home, building tree forts, hanging sheets in backyards or neighbourhood parks and watching movies under the stars. And that’s not all. There are backyard games, like horseshoes or ringers or cornhole, to be played. We are advised to lay in a field of grass. To pick wildflowers. To make daisy wreaths. To catch fireflies in a jar.

Parents are told they can soak a sandbox or section of the garden and the kids can make mudpies and castles, construction sites and roads. And there’s more. Treasure or scavenger hunts can be organized. Children can be helped to produce a play or skit. Watermelon can be eaten. Lots of it. And as the man wrote, “thy eternal summer shall not fade.” The kids can be invited to put some biodegradable soap in a bucket, add a sponge, and clean bikes and scooters and deck chairs. If that grows old, parents can organize water-gun fights.

Why, looked at in that light, it might just be shaping up to be the longest summer ever.

This is shaping up to be the summer in which there isn’t much to do. The summer that fun forgot