Labor Day weekend has come and gone. The summer has unofficially ended and I look forward to the rain. Boy, oh boy, do I hope for rain. I’m one of those people who dislike summer. Summer is a distrustful companion, an overly optimistic friend who seems transparent, but who promises the ultimate snake oil, that illusion of “fun in the sun”.

Astoria depends on summer tourism, beginning with the Crab-fest in April, then moving on to the Goonies anniversary, the Music Festival, the Scandinavian Festival, the Fourth of July, the Clatsop County Fair, and the Astoria Regatta. August brings fisherman and sea lions back for Chinook salmon. Highway 30 and Highway 101 congestion turns a normal 10 minute drive across the bridge to Warrenton into an hour. All of this is necessary for the local economy. After all, I am a new resident here, anxious for my share of the Columbia River experience. It is very rude to claim a place as my own and then wish to keep everyone else out, hoarding the experience like people who build homes on lakes and then try to limit others from moving in and ruining their Shangri-La. And as we learned in Lost Horizon, an unaltered and unencumbered life is really not very fulfilling.

And that is what summer is – the year’s Shangri-La, offering up perpetual holidaying, loving family barbecues and family reunions, patriotic experiences, and the promise of daily sunshine in our lives. Because expectations for summer are so grandiose, its disappointments sneak up on us, blurred by the sun in our eyes and dulled by colorful stands and sidewalk displays, shelves filled with swirling pinwheels and bright orange and yellow and watermelon-colored beach necessities. If we do not fit into this summer picture, we feel guilty – shamed into participating in the festivities when all we want to do is sit on the couch and close the blinds.

Winter, with its shadows and fog, lets us know there are frightful things hidden away and ready to jump at us in an unsuspecting moment. Winter makes us aware. It is transparent. We know there is danger in the fog or in the tempest of the sea. Winter tells us it is okay to hide away from its dangers. And if we venture outside, it slaps us with the reality of a freezing wind or it knocks us off our feet as we navigate a sidewalk. Winter is real. It is no Shangri-La. It says “my sunshine is a ruse”, because if we step out of a winter sun into the shadows, we end up on our arses.

Astoria is a bit like the seasons. Summer hides the reality of lives here, scrappy and resourceful people making the most of the summer economy, who know that once the rain hits, the rest of the year’s living will depend on those ticket sales from summer. Yet there was a collective sigh from the permanent residents here in Astoria when the first breeze of fall returned, reminding people to button that sweater or think about where they left last year’s rain slicker.

Last week, I awoke to the sounds of sea lions and the smell of rain. I packed my beach bag and headed to Cannon Beach. Maybe there is a Shangri-La and maybe it is raining there.