Where I live here in Nebraska, we can always tell that it’s summer when:

• The corn in the fields grows high enough that we have to stop at the intersections on all the county roads because it’s impossible to see if anyone is coming.
• When the hum of spray planes in the distance becomes a constant sound, with the occasional plane buzzing low enough over the house to make the windows rattle.
• When the fireflies come out.
• When the county fair begins. Walking through the exhibits and animal barns is always a must, but my family is also partial to the free rodeo.
• When the younger kids start hunkering down in the pool all afternoon
• When the weeds in the garden sprout overnight.
• When the grill gets put to regular use. Pork chops. Steaks. Hotdogs. You name it.
• When the family brakes for garage sales. The bigger the sale the better.
• When garden goodies cover the counter.
• When the farmer’s markets begin.
• When the hay is cut and baled, stockpiled for the winter.
• When the mosquitoes and flies come out in hordes.
• When temperatures soar and the family turns to ice water and ceiling fans for reprieve.

To me, that sounds like a pretty thorough definition of summer.