I made a terrible mistake. Since I won’t be there with them on their first day of school, in my desire to try to be part of this milestone in absentia, I wanted to leave my neighbors’ elementary school age boys whom I adore a little first day of school package and cards.
Usually enthusiastic about anything I bring them, be it the tiniest rubber shaped animal figurine to add to their collection or a home baked cake, this time one of the boys just smilingly looked at me and with a twinkle in his eye, said, “Tehilla, no mentioning of the S word” (S, for school).
Why, of course! How could I have blanked on that, and committed this grave error??
It’s that time of year again, last licks of summer.
One more outing to the beach. One more time leaving the cluttered city for the blending blue horizon where the sky meets the water, and for a time the world seems endless, continuing on to infinity. One more opportunity to leave the rising city heat behind and instead melt into the bright sunshine light and soothing sound of the waves, watching this mesmerizing rise and fall visual in motion as their predictable rhythm soothes. One more afternoon or evening that brings back the sweetest joyfilled childhood memories of sunhat-clad girls, contented, languishing on Netanya or Tel Aviv sandy beach days, where all your mental energy was focused on wiling away the day in jumping waves or building another sand castle, as my mother— a true beach lover — lay nearby us.
While I embraced the majestic Rockies I was also raised on, and truly love, those cathartic mountains I call home, even before them there was the Mediterranean; epitomizing summer, foamy, warm and blue.
And what of the last licks of Denver summers? One more hike in the perfectly crisp cooler morning air, softening a steep climb just enough to feel the difference. Starting to feel an ever so subtle, quiet yet perceptible transition in the air. The trails become less crowded, the intense midday heat fades a bit, and the faintest shades of gold appear on those delicate Aspen leaves, a hint at the approaching autumn, when even if fleetingly Colorado feels like it belongs to Coloradans once again, even if it’s just until the first snow falls.
Those abundant colorful farmers market stalls, overflowing with abundant peak summer produce.
Those heirloom tomatoes, of course. Laid out on the table in their spectrum of summer tomato colors, ranging from lime green to deep gold to classic red to dark burgundy. They look like a proper striking still life, a prelude to a beautiful painting, these pieces of heirloom tomato history, so artistic and charming in their irregular shapes.
Sometimes, with their deep clefts, folds, creases, pleats and ruffles, they almost seem to look like mini summer pumpkins.
But instead of pumpkins that require a long slow warm cooking, you can just slice through their raw juicy small seed chambers into round, oval, heart, teardrop or ruffled pumpkin shapes , drizzle fruity grassy olive oil on a slice, shower it with a bit of a lovely maldon salt. Voila! You’ve got one of summers tastiest, au natural, gastronomic treats. They embody peak summer in a bit.
It’s true of these heirloom summer tomatoes wherever it is I’ve eaten them.
But Colorado’s Rocky Ford melons, Olathe corn and locally grown peaches? That’s a last licks of summer, Colorado special, like nowhere else.
The intensely sugary flavor and especially the tender kernels of the Olathe that give that extra “pop” from corn you unwrap from their husks, stripping off the leaves, to reveal its fragile gossamer corn silk layer, like you just received a personal gift-wrapped present from nature. It’s true candy corn!
And the exceptionally sweet and ripe with that unique Colorado taste — the sun kissed blush of color, curved peaches, and those glorious melons.
Of course, there are those signature Palisade peaches that are outstanding and so exciting when you spy a stand of them under a little tent, showcasing peaches arranged in little white paper bags with handles. But to me, all the local peaches were divine.
Eating or cooking with this combo of produce at the end of August makes for a distinctly Colorado summer.
Ripened half moon slices of peaches holding heady scents, baked in wrapped, or under, buttery crusts. Cold platters of red, white and green Italian caprese. Slices of curved raw pastel colored melon flesh. Dots of corn kernels decorating salads, or straight up ears of Olathe corn.
What lovely summer delights and pleasures.
Brought along to the beach’s shore, or tucked along with you on a mountain trail, and the late, last licks of summer sensory and culinary experience combined is complete.
But forget all that. Forget the beach, the mountains, nature’s bounty, or even adventurous camping trips.
Most important, Uber Alles, above all, in the spirit of the magical stuff that childhood summers are made of, it’s that time of year, for as long as possible, when days are wiled away without a care in the world, and when we delay mentioning or uttering that most verboten of words: The “S” word.
© IJN 2026
