Summer’s Long Goodbye

a group of girls laughing and splashing on a floating dock

Up north, they start talking about fall in early September — sweaters, pumpkin spice, and leaves crunching under their boots. Here in coastal Georgia? We’re still swatting mosquitoes and sweating through our T-shirts.

Summer doesn’t politely pack her bags after Labor Day down here. She lingers. She stretches. She makes herself right at home until late October, sometimes November if she’s feeling bold. The air stays heavy with humidity, the afternoons still hit the high 80s, and the ocean never really loses her warmth.

We don’t trade flip-flops for boots. We keep both by the door. Our “fall” is a mood, not a temperature drop. It’s golden sunsets over the marsh, backyard cookouts that taste like August, and the sound of crickets that refuse to call it quits.

And the leaves? Don’t let Instagram fool you. We rake them year-round here. Spanish moss drops when it wants, palmetto fronds fall without notice, and the oaks never check a calendar.

Summer here lingers like a slow Southern goodbye, the kind where you say “well, I better get going” three times before you actually leave.

We also love our extended summers, celebrating right through Thanksgiving with beach trips, swimming pools, and fishing poles in hand. While the rest of the country is shivering in scarves, we’re catching one last wave or casting a line at sunset.

And yes, us girls still like our fall decor and pumpkin spice everything. We’ll sip it iced if we have to, light our cinnamon candles in 85° weather, and put pumpkins on the porch even if they’re sweating right along with us. We love long, romantic walks down the aisles of Hobby Lobby, fall colors everywhere, and endless Bath & Body Works candles that make our homes smell like we actually have seasons.

And then comes Christmas, and no, we don’t get the Hallmark movie backdrop. There’s no snow, no frosted rooftops, no picturesque sleigh rides. Instead, everything outside is mostly brown, the trees are bare, and the grass has gone to sleep for the winter. But we don’t let that stop us.

group of teens hanging around a Volkswagen bus with surfboards

We decorate like we’ve been waiting all year for it, and we have. Lights dripping off palm trees, wreaths hung on weathered front doors, and blow-up Santas swaying in the salty breeze. And down here, we even have our own Santa Claus because, honestly, the world’s too big for just one. Our Santa knows how to wave from a boat, toss candy from a golf cart, and take pictures in flip-flops without missing a beat. He shows up at parades without a snowflake in sight, laughing just as loud as the one at the North Pole. Kids line up in their Christmas T-shirts instead of sweaters, and nobody thinks twice about it because down here, Santa’s just as Southern as the rest of us.

And maybe that’s why I love Christmas in July on the Hallmark Channel. Every movie feels like a little reminder that Christmas is on its way. For a couple of weeks, the twinkle lights, small-town love stories, and happy endings are back on my screen, nudging my heart to start getting ready for the magic all over again.

Our homes smell like cinnamon and pine, even if the air outside smells more like the marsh. We may not have postcard-perfect Christmas weather, but that’s never stopped us from creating our own magic. We hang twinkle lights on every surface, pour the hot cocoa, and fill each corner with something that makes us smile. And when the music swells and the church bells ring, we’ll still sing “Go Tell It on the Mountain” like the good news just broke that morning.

And then… Christmas is over. The lights come down, the cookies are gone, and what’s left is just blah. Brown, dull, and boring. The marsh grass fades to a tired shade of tan, the sky stays stubbornly gray, and the air feels heavy without the sparkle of the holidays. The yards look bare where the twinkle lights used to dance, and the days feel quieter — not the cozy kind of quiet, but the kind that makes you long for something new.

A cross equals love drawn in the sand at the beach

We all start counting down to Easter, waiting for the flowers to bloom, the azaleas to explode in pink and purple that match my hair, and the marsh to trade its winter brown for a fresh, lively green. Until then, it’s just us, the quiet, and a whole lot of waiting for color to come back. But maybe that’s the gift of this season too: the stillness makes you notice the little things. A golden sunset on a cold day. The way the marsh reflects the light is just right. And when spring finally comes, we’ll rejoice and shout “He is risen!” because the earth, and our hearts, will feel alive again.

Sure, the calendar says the season’s changing. But here, we know better. In coastal Georgia, summer leaves when she’s good and ready. And until then, we’ll keep soaking her in, heat, sweat, and all.