Golden Days and Screen Door Nights

There’s something about summer in the South that feels like a memory even as you’re living it. The thick air clings to your skin, the days stretch out like a front porch nap, and time seems to slow just enough to notice the small things—like the way cicadas hum right as the sun dips below the treetops or how an old screen door groans like it’s got a story to tell.

Back then, summer didn’t need much. A garden hose could become a water park, and a grape Popsicle could paint a smile across any kid’s face. Mornings were for cartoons and cereal, afternoons were for bare feet on hot pavement and catching lightning bugs in mason jars. We didn’t count steps or check the weather app—we just went outside and stayed till somebody hollered for us to come in.

There were ballgames at the rec field, where the bleachers burned the backs of your legs but nobody cared because your cousin just hit a homer. Churches hosted Vacation Bible School with Kool-Aid so sweet it made your teeth ache and crafts you’d show off proudly on your mama’s fridge. Grandparents sat under shade trees with fans in hand, swapping stories, snapping beans, and reminding you to stay out of the garden rows unless you wanted to help pick.

Evenings smelled like honeysuckle and fresh-cut grass. Fireworks popped in the distance whether it was the Fourth of July or not, and a trip to town meant stopping by the dairy bar for a swirl cone—vanilla on bottom, dipped in chocolate.

Summer wasn’t perfect, but it sure felt magical. It was simple. It was slow. And it was full of moments we didn’t know we were collecting until we got older and started craving them.

Now, when the heat rolls in and the air thickens with that unmistakable Southern stillness, it’s hard not to be pulled back. Back to porch swings and screen doors. Back to laughter echoing off tin roofs and the promise of another golden day ahead.

If you’re lucky, you still find glimpses of it—in the drip of a melting cone, the call of a whip-poor-will, or the way a summer thunderstorm rolls through just in time for supper.

Yeah, summer in the South still has its magic. You’ve just got to slow down long enough to feel it.