In August

The frayed edge of summer

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I’m writing today from the Chautauqua Institution in upstate New York. It’s an incredible place - a kind of liberal arts holiday camp with a mission to promote interfaith dialogue. Being of no fixed faith, I am flattered to be invited back for a second time; I just shook hands with the Reverend Michael Curry, which is a good way to get imposter syndrome. Still, I’m delighted to be here, showing up for the waverers, the uncertain folk. 

I gave my lecture on ‘Why Awe Matters’ on Friday afternoon, with rain pouring down all around and many intrepid people watching from under umbrellas (you can stream it here by the way, but it does require a subscription to the Chautauqua YouTube channel). I thought, afterwards, how often I’ve been told to imagine the audience naked when public speaking, in order to feel less threatened. I do roughly the opposite - I spend a few minutes beforehand meditating on the incredible people who will be there listening, and how much respect they deserve. A little intimidating? Sure. But it puts me in the right frame of mind for communicating with the people in the room, rather than talking at them.

I was driven here from Buffalo Airport by a lovely man called Jim. Along the way, he pointed out one of the farms owned by the Amish who live around here. For an English person, this is the stuff of mythology; I drank in the scene of neat barns, a paddock of well-tended cattle, and a field of golden wheatstacks, looking for all the world like a Monet or a van Gogh. When I left home, one of the last things I saw was a combine harvester working over the ripe corn. August, I thought. We’ve reached a distinct moment in the year. 

I’ve been thinking for a while that I’d like to send a monthly post that addresses our exact point in the year, and where it’s leading me. We’ve just passed Lammas, meaning ‘loaf mass’, the English Christian holiday that marked this first harvest. Neopagans and Celts among you might know it better as Lughnasadh (‘lunasa’); in Welsh, it is Gŵyl Awst, the ‘feast of August’. It is a time when the first summer crops matured, long before tomato season was a thing.