This year’s winter was so cold and seemingly endless that it actually was possible to forget what summer warmth could feel like. For the first time I can recall, people I know who consider themselves die-hard Central New Yorkers were heard whispering of kinder climes. But all that is past us now as we enjoy our reward in one sun-kissed weekend after another. It’s as if we are more determined to enjoy this early summer warmth because of what we went through in February and March. It’s like we earned it. Bikers peddling, brides blushing, guys grilling, little kids freed from snowsuits running around in shorts — there’s a happiness in the air that I can only attribute to this season of strawberry delight. Is it just me, or does the ice cream even taste better this year?
I will put our Central New York summers up there with those of anyplace in the nation. Yet if you travel or talk to people from other regions, most of them think that we live in a perpetual blizzard. Syracusans, the common myth goes, spend six months of the year shoveling their way to the Carrier Dome. That’s it. There’s got to be a way to let the world know what a gorgeous display nature puts on for us once the snow melts away.
The problem is that every year we bring tens of thousands of students to town for the harshest part of the year. They spend the winter hunkered down and gritting their teeth as they dodge snowbanks and lake-effect squalls. Then, just before the summer breaks loose, we discharge them back to their parts of the world shivering with slush-filled Uggs and tales of snowplows large enough to bungee jump from. They know nothing of JazzFest or the state fair or the magic of the Finger Lakes. It’s as if the roses at the Mills Garden in Thornden Park send scouts across Ostrom Avenue to wait until the last dorm room has emptied before they burst into their full magnificence.
This student body leaves the Salt City learned in many respects, but completely ignorant of the pleasures to be found in our sweet, sweet summers. Their exodus creates an image problem for us that no amount of “New York’s College Team” banners at Yankee Stadium will help us to reverse.
What we need to do is to persuade the new chancellor at SU, Kent Syverud, to reconfigure the academic year. Word from some on the hill is that the chancellor shares little of his predecessor’s enthusiasm for spending university resources on economic development in town. So here’s an idea that would cost nothing, but would dramatically reshape the world’s vision of Syracuse: Start the school year just after St. Patrick’s Day and end it just before Christmas.
Have the college students enjoy their Central New York summer and then go home before the worst of winter hits. As the years go by, we would be building a cadre of ambassadors who talk of Syracuse as this place of endless festivals, rippling sunshine and non-stop outdoor fun. “But doesn’t it snow there?” their friends will ask. “I hear some of the local people talk about that,” they will say, “but I haven’t really seen it.”
There is nothing like the sound of an overnight summertime rain tapping on the roof. After a beautiful sun-drenched weekend, you can lie in bed and listen to the raindrops pounding on the shingles and running off the sides of the house, recharging the gardens and refilling the water table and (assuming you remembered to close all the car windows) feel that all is right with the world. When all of this takes place while we’re lying in bed, we don’t lose out on a minute of enjoying our all-too-brief but spectacular summer.
Flip That Calendar

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In summertime, it’s easy to see why fracking is such a bad idea. When it’s 20 degrees, fracking opponents will have to explain where in the world we will be getting the fuel we need to keep warm.