08: goodbye summer
Anna Carlsson says goodbye to summer
It is April and Weatherzone says it’s 30 degrees with a perfect yellow circle. I let out a sigh of irritation, as I foresee my sweaty commute home from work. God, this summer never ends.
☀️
My mum walks me around the native reserve tended to by her local plant society. Six local high school students have created a design on corten panels to represent the six seasons on their land, Gunditjmara Country. March – May is ‘Gwangal Moronn, Honey Bee Season.’ Describing this season, the sign reads:
Warm, still days
Country starts to cool
Cooler mornings
Red sunrises & golden evenings.
Reading these words reassures me. ‘So true!’, l think. We actually have had cooler mornings, golden evenings. The days do feel still. Even though it is Autumn, a sense of summer lingers in the air.
Visiting Warrnambool – where I grew up – for Easter, forces me to listen to nature. My mother’s garden (apples and pears, a ground covering She-oak), the bluestone my grandfather used to build my family home (formed by the lava from the now-dormant volcano, called Koroit, the town sits beside), the smell of the ocean that circles town (middens cut into the landscape around the water) – it all speaks to me. However far I travel for however long I go, it is all still there and when I return, it is always the same.
Warrnambool reminds me of water and water reminds me of summer. The relationships between the three are not unrelated, as the majority of my childhood, teen-hood and adulthood Januarys have been spent at the local surf life saving club, between the flags, in the water. As it is mainly family holiday makers from out of town (with the occasional spotting of my Grade 1 teacher), I never fear what I wear, what I read, what I look like – it is just me and the waves. However out of place I have felt in our nation, my connection with the water always makes me feel Australian – whatever that is.
In Melbourne, as soon as the temperature hits 26 degrees, we seek water. We commute on big fat vessels for cool refreshment. This summer I have visited Fitzroy Baths, North Melbourne Pool, Chelsea Beach, Brunswick Baths, Ascot Vale Leisure Centre, St Kilda Pier, Williamstown Beach, Laughing Waters … Each body of water projects a different aquatic reality. The way we seek water is entirely natural, yet we must travel a distance to find our great escape. Only to arrive at the panopticon. It feels surreal.
What are we reading? What are we wearing? What are we not wearing? Who are we texting? Who are we listening to? Who is looking at me? Why is no one looking at me? Why does everything matter so much more in summer?
7am’s Read This: ‘We Went Back to the Fitzroy Pool’ encapsulates the cyclical nature of Melbourne culture, with punters reading the books at the very pool that their book features. Fitzroy Baths has a long legacy of artistic presence, as mentioned by the podcast: Monkey Grip (1977) by Helen Garner, ‘Aqua Profunda!’ (2015) by Courtney Barnett, Swimsuit (2018) by Rachel Ang and Cherrywood (2024) by Jock Serong, the iconic pool is the stage for performance. The ‘show’ has changed across time periods. My friend in her sixties has told me stories of her parents arriving from Italy and working and learning English in the Gloweave Factory on Smith Street. The suburb was once a hub for migrants, is now a hub for the tertiary educated who wear independent Melbourne designers and shop ethically. The podcast episode notes this pool’s cultural history and this is affirmed when Michael Williams interviews the Fitzroy Bath attendees. It is clear that the readers at this pool are (as stated in the podcast) ‘subject to the cliches of literature’, with their cool, culturally significant books (some not even in English). I say this lovingly as some of my closest friends are the voices recorded, but I want to know what they’d be reading if they were not being perceived in this specific arena. In my questioning, perhaps I am just revealing my own insecurities that are shaped by the perception of others: I want to be the smartest AND hottest girl at Fitzroy Baths.
Speaking recently to a friend, we agreed that ice cream is a big part of what makes summer so special. The idea that we can indulge in the pleasure at any moment simply because, ‘It’s summer baby!’ makes life better. Obviously we love to support Melbourne’s burgeoning independent-turn-franchise ice cream scene, but the way the heat unlocks an ability to indulge is interesting. A child-like animal is freed when eating a scoop of Fluffy Torpedo’s Buttered Baguette. As I continue thinking about summer foods, I think about why we allow ourselves to lean into enjoyment on a grander scale in summer. Why is it more available for us to access in this season? Why does the sun give us permission to eat seafood at the wine bar, drink wine at the pub and pay $6.40-$8 for an iced oat latte?
The omnipotence of ‘brat summer’ cannot be ignored. While I love Charli XCX and have listened to Girl, so confusing featuring Lorde more times than normal, I now feel a sense of disgust when affronted with neon green. The album and marketing campaign is synonymous with partying, having fun and being ‘messy’ – something that we align with warmth, holidays and a lack of responsibility. I am not criticising this movement or even a collective attachment to a word, album and or feeling. I am more curious as to why we assign this freedom to ‘summer’?
At the close of Charli’s set at Coachella Weekend 2, her background flashes: ‘maybe it’s time for a different kind of summer?’. In an attempt to shepherd in the next craze of the upcoming summer, Charli’s backdrop shows appreciation for other artists. Bless her (the girl’s probably extremely tired). As she passes on her baton, it is clear to me now, why we assign ‘the party’ to summer –
Because summer ends.
In Sean Baker’s The Florida Project (2017), through the eyes of six-year-old protagonist Moonee (Brooklynn Prince) and her crew, summer feels big and endless but safe and contained. Set in a budget motel next to Disney World in Florida, the setting demonstrates the stark comparison between the lives of excess and the lives of deprivation. Baker depicts the children’s lack of fear of their circumstances and potential consequences through their tomfoolery, often causing trouble for the adults in their lives as they battle life in the margins. The audience is kept aware of the constant threats that linger (unemployment, homelessness, violence) but for Moonee and her friends, it is summer and the world is her theme park. As her fun continues, we see the impoverished life of her young mother Halley (Bria Vinaite) decline, forcing us to question, how long can the fun last?
Ultimately the film explores innocence and freedom (lack thereof), it is astute in its messaging – summer cannot last forever. As the audience, we feel the fear: What happens when summer ends? What happens when childhood ends? What happens when we can’t hold it together anymore?
We all know the feeling of a heat wave; when your share house has absorbed 4 days of continuous weather above 35 degrees. As you lay on top of your covers, listening to the whirring plastic of your fan, you pray for the cool change. It is only then, when the first few drops of rain that fall after the oppressive heat do we really appreciate its end.
As the sun sets on summer, I am happy. As social intensity begins to fade, I am happy. I feel myself naturally retreating, spending time alone, reflecting on the season that was. Inspired by Katherine May’s Wintering (2020), I look forward to ‘the transformative power of rest’.
The best thing about summer is not the partying, the fun, the ice cream, the iced lattes, the pet nat, the flings, the fashion, the BBQs, the gossip, the pools – it is that it ends. We indulge in the sun because we know its warmth one day fades.
Summer Reading
The Slap by Christos Tsiolkas
The Coin by Yasmin Zaher
Cold Enough for Snow by Jessica Au
Summer Listening
Silk Chiffon by MUNA
Sexy to Someone by Clairo
Relationships by HAIM
Summer Watching
The Florida Project (2017), Dir. Sean Baker
Anora (2024), Dir. Sean Baker
I Am Still Here (2024), Dir Walter Salles
Summer Drinking
Campari Orange Juice (@ Bar Holiday)
Elderflower Spritz (@ Cam’s Kiosk)
Raspberry Zero Sugar Lemonade Spider (@ my BF)
wbu?
Love this Anna. Can confirm that on 7am’s cutting room floor is audio of me criticising the New Yorker copy I was reading at Fitzroy pool as dull and boring. When I smartly pivoted to talking about Helen Garner’s new one, that made the cut. Us cynics know how to meet Schwartz’s lit-beauty standards
Damn