Last night, at the first football scrimmage of the season, parents were sweating as we watched the boys run up and down the field and crash into each other. Ahhhh…the end of summer. School has started, but we’re still melting a bit. I don’t mind the 97-degree days because I know they are going to disappear shortly. I’ll soon be pulling out my parka and gloves. By the end of the Pop Warner season, it’s cold enough in New Hampshire for a wool hat and for the hot chocolate to run out at the concession stands. Hard to imagine now with the A/C still humming—but that’s what is so great about New England. You actually forget what the other seasons are like until you’re back in the middle of them. It’s like a little Christmas present—every few months. I do love summer, though—soft-serve ice cream, the ocean, steamers at Brown’s, and even better, no homework in the household for 10 weeks. And I love that everything in the summer is green, and alive. When my son was six, he asked me once, “How did God make green?” He was inspired to this spiritual depth by a simple maple leaf, which he picked up off the ground and studied before crushing it in his front pocket. At the time, his favorite color was morphing from purple (do you know how hard it is to find boy clothes that are purple?) to green. This was becoming his new favorite because Yoda from Star Wars was green. Sure, I could have told him chlorophyll gives leaves their color, and I probably did. But what explains a green crayon, a green Yankee Candle, or a green Jedi Master from Dagobah? Actually, forget the color! How do they make that candle smell like fresh-cut grass? I’m sure there’s a scientific explanation but if it involves the periodic table it’s way too chemical for my interest. Let’s just leave it that God made green the same way he makes syrup come from trees or blue-white snowflakes from the sky, the same way he makes dusk smell different in October that it does in August. It’s just a darn miracle. That’s what it is.