Summer is probably my least favorite season out of all the four, with winter following its heels. Some people may love summer because of the warm, nice weather which allows them to go out, frolic, and maybe go to the beach to take a dip in the water.
As someone who has lived in a tropical country for majority of my life, my body has loathed the heat and the humidity, and when I lived in a country with a more temperate climate, I acclimated pretty well especially with spring and fall. I even started to grow fond of winter, despite experiencing below-zero temperatures, ice-cold showers, and very slippery streets due to snow. But summer is a different beast altogether wherever you may be. And the general rise in global temperatures doesn't help at all.
I have also spoken with friends I've met and they too preferred winter over summer. Perhaps, it's the feeling of lethargy brought about by the suffocating humidity, whether you're inside or out. Not to mention the effects of UV rays on the skin. Then again, these come from the perspective of someone who has lived under the sun, the heat, and the humidity for most of their life. It may be different if, for example, you spent majority of your life living in frost and tundra, without seeing much of the sun for most of your days. In that case, maybe you would find summer to be such a refreshing season to frolic in the meadow and bathe under the sunlight.
That may exactly be what comes to mind for some classical Russian writers. Where winters can be as long as five months a year, it might be good for both the mind and body to spend several moments, if not, months under the sun. But alas, summers in Russia may not always be what one would expect. There may be instances when instead of bright sunshine, what greets you when you look outside the window are dark clouds and downpours. So, here are some of the thoughts of Russian writers about summer.
Lazing around
Chukovsky writes that summer is the best time to go out for a walk, if the weather is good, that is. He further indicates that it is such a temptation that draws one from their work, in that, instead of writing a book, they would rather just go out, enjoy the weather, and take a lazy stroll. Tolstoy echoes this sentiment admitting that when summer comes, he'd just enjoy life and do almost nothing else.
Going on vacation
As with the rest of us, the Russian writers associated summer with making vacation plans and wiling their time away on the sea, at a distance village somewhere, or deep within the Caucasus. Dostoevsky even writes how he would consider it such a disaster and loss of life if he were not able to swim in the sea during the summer. He would lament such a tragedy to the point that he would become sick over it.
Unexpected weather
Then, there are those summers which you just can't seem to predict the weather. Chekhov complained how one nasty summer they never had a day without rain, which is quite an abysmal state indeed. As much as I hate the terribe heat and humidity of summer, I'd prefer having the sun out instead of rain clouds.
Best time of the year
Tolstoy recounts in his diary a time when he was 17-years-old, spending a summer night, and the charm brought about by such a setting. And both Paustovsky and Bunin shared how summer is quite a fleeting season, it passed just as quickly as it arrived, not having enough time to do everything you had planned or wanted. And alas, it's fall again.
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