In the Heat of the Summer, 1981

A sign of how these Covid Days run one into another, I arose this morning thinking it was Monday, a misapprehension that only righted itself under a bracing shower, after I’d published the post.

As a result of the chronological confusion, I’d gone looking for a photo worthy of the “Miscellaneous Monday” taxonomy (see under Categories, above). So I pulled a cardboard box from the “overflow” closet, unopened since the last move, containing three tin slide-file boxes bought in the ’70s — my first attempt at organizing a growing collection of Kodachromes — only to enter another time-warp.

The featured photo wasn’t the first candidate to go under the loupe; I examined a couple of dozen transparencies, including castoffs from various climbing and skiing trips; the interior of a fridge with Labatt’s beer in stubby bottles and a rare cactus flower; my daughter’s first climbing lessons at Squamish, and some out-of-focus shots of what looks like a plastic duck. Subjects, perhaps, for future posts.

You know how these things can go: one minute you’re looking through a box of miscellany, next thing the day is gone and you’ve forgotten the original point of your search. I drifted off into memories of Robson Street, where I lived when I bought those tin archives.

But it was this photograph that stopped me, a quarter way through the first box. As I’ve said before, I view cars as transportation or design elements. However, this “beater” tells us something more about its occupants. As far as my personal relationship to the image goes, I’d just returned from a bicycle trip across British Columbia. I was between work and between homes (I’d soon land a job and apartment in Vancouver). I vividly recall the early summer heat and the trouble I was courting.