The Dog Days of Summer: Something Is Rotten in Finland

With the scorching days and frequent afternoon thunderstorms, everything in my Brookhaven yard is growing like kudzu, which thankfully I don’t have. The lantana is overtaking the mailbox and the tops of the begonias, which began as tiny clumps of red, are skimming the windows. Still thriving are the beautiful pots planted by my goddaughter Ella in a variety of yellow flowers and greenery as my birthday gift in May.

Apparently, the same is occurring with vegetables. Some delightful friends invited me to lunch and sent me home with a bag of their excess cucumbers. This morning I added tomatoes, onions, garlic peppers and other ingredients to my blender and made a large jug of gazpacho in preparation for the hot week ahead. I tested it for seasoning and was especially delighted by the taste of the fresh cucumbers.

For all of the downsides, the upside of the Dog Days of summer is the profusion of fresh vegetables that lasts in the South well into college football tailgate season.

Among my favorite childhood summer memories is walking outside onto my family’s carport in the mornings and seeing boxes of freshly picked fruit and vegetables dropped off by friends who were sharing their gardens’ abundance. There were tomatoes, squash, zucchini, cucumbers, okra, peppers of every color, corn green beans, field peas and, if we were lucky, watermelon, cantaloupe and other melons.

Some mornings, galvanized tubs filled with fish – still alive and swimming in water – would be sitting on the driveway. Late summer was considered a good time to drain ponds to remediate them. Our benefactors were careful to give us only fish with scales and fins, which identified them as kosher. Catfish didn’t qualify, so they either kept those for themselves or gifted them elsewhere. (Knowledge of what Christians consider the Old Testament was extensive and widespread where I grew up, so it was no surprise that our friends understood some of the laws of kashrut.)

(I’m sure the amazing generosity wasn’t at all affected by the knowledge that my mother would soon reciprocate by dropping off one of her famous homemade cakes, maybe a mile-high chocolate layer cake with fluffy white icing or a cheesecake dripping with fresh blueberry topping.)

All of that fresh food meant an incredible dinner that day because we all knew that everything spoiled quickly during the Dog Days, despite refrigeration. (We had our big meal at midday, which we called dinner, and a light supper, at least partly because of the heat.)

It was a different time, My recollection is that school started closer to Labor Day than it does now and that the second half of summer vacation August had its own rhythm.

Just the other day, my childhood best friend Joyce and I were talking about the Dog Days of Summer. Specifically, we were recalling in one of our regular telephone calls how, when the weather heated up to torrid in our small southeast Georgia town, our main activity nearly every morning was swimming at the pool at the Cracker Williams Recreation Center on the “other side of town.”

The “other side of town” is in quotes because it wasn’t so much of a direction as a place. It required the major and risky activity of “crossing the railroad tracks,” which split our hometown of Jesup in two. That potentially treacherous crossing was something we weren’t allowed to do until we were probably 10 or older. Before that, we could only go if a parent drove us, or we could persuade one of our older siblings – most often my sister Linda – to accompany us because she was meeting her own buddies to swim.

We would go as early in the morning as we could and swim for hours, put our clothes on over our soaking wet bathing suits and get a Tom’s Full Dinner candy bar from the vending machine. Then, reeking of chlorine, we would try to get home – by foot or bicycle – before all of our clothing dried. Otherwise, we would have to contend with the sweltering temperatures that began shooting up by 11 a.m.

I swear I could smell the midday meal as soon as we crossed Third Street next to our house. Potty, our much more than housekeeper, would have made both fried and baked fish if we had some. Otherwise, she would serve fried and broiled chicken or meatloaf or country-fried steak or stew beef, all with three or four or even more vegetables, a plate of sliced tomatoes and usually rice and gravy, mashed potatoes or another starch. (If the meal was non-meat, such as fish, macaroni and cheese and a pan of biscuits usually were on the table with banana pudding for dessert.)

After a feast such as that, I was happy to find a cool spot in the back of the air-conditioned house and read all afternoon, which I was able to do sometimes, at least until it stormed and the AC had to be shut off. Other times, especially when I was older, my parents wanted me to come to help them at their clothing store. Trust me, unless you had to, going outside was to be avoided at all costs. The average temperatures rose well into the 90s and humidity built up until the daily late afternoon or early evening thunderstorm occurred.

Until I was 13, our store was located in an old building that wasn’t air-conditioned but instead had gigantic ceiling fans which did little to moderate the heat. They also stirred up dust from the dirt road on the back side of the L-shaped building, which faced the railroad track and always reeked of soft tar in the summer. (The front was on the main street.) Because of that, at the end of the day, I would help the store clerks cover the tables and racks of clothing with massive protective dropcloths before the fans were turned off. In the morning, the dropcloths had to be removed, shaken outside to remove the dirt and put away until the end of the day.

And it wasn’t just the heat keeping us inside in July and August. We youngsters were constantly admonished about the dangers of the Dog Days – snakes were more likely to bite, dogs could turn rabid in a flash and, of course, heat stroke was always a danger. In addition, it was considered the gospel that any cuts or burns would never heal during that time of year.

This wasn’t some local custom found only in the piney woods of south Georgia, however. The understanding of Dog Days is a worldwide phenomenon with venerable roots. A period of several weeks in the heat of summer is considered sinister in many cultures across the world.

The Old Farmer’s Almanac points out that the ancient Greeks, Egyptians and Romans believed that when Sirius, the dog star, rose in mid-to-late summer, it played a role in the extreme weather of the season. (An interesting tidbit from that article is that name “Sirius” comes from the ancient Greek seírios, meaning “scorching.”)

Based on those sources, the Dog Days technically run from around July 3 to August 11, although others just say they happen in mid-to-late summer.

For the Ancients, the ascent of Sirius suggested that drought, disease, or discomfort were more likely. Virgil, the Roman poet, wrote in the Aeneid that “fiery Sirius, bringer of drought and plague to frail mortals, rises and saddens the sky with sinister light.”

As it turns out, they weren’t the only denizens of the ancient world who had concerns about unfavorable outcomes at the height of summer. So many events occurred from the 17^th of Tammuz to the ninth day of Av, that the sad commemoration of Tisha B’av became part of the Jewish calendar. The events primarily remembered are the destruction of the first Temple in 538 BCE and the second Temple around 70 CE. But many other events occurred on the ninth of Av which is a fast day, including the expulsion of Jews from England in 1290 and Spain in 1492. To current times, the three weeks before are considered unfavorable for many activities, with the final nine days having even more restrictions, including against eating meat, drinking wine and getting a haircut -- something I follow.

Guess what time of year Tisha B’av occurs? In 2023, the three weeks began on July 6 (see the dates for Dog Days above) and ended on July 27. Clearly, whatever it is called, historical sources found something menacing about a 3-5 week period at the apex of summer.

Here’s the kicker: At least some of what we believed about the Dog Days has turned out to be true.

A study came out just last month on the topic of snake bites. The research was done in Georgia, and Emory University researchers reported that every degree Celsius of daily temperature increase corresponds with about a 6% increase in snake bites.

A 2009 Finnish study reported, meanwhile, that the risk of deep surgery wound infection during Dog Days is two times higher than at other times.

In Finnish folklore, the time from June 23 to August 23 has been called "rotten month" (another name for Dog Days), and the Finns also have the superstition that wound healing is delayed due to infections. (It turns out that its neighbor, Sweden, has “rötmånad,” translated as “rotting month” from around the 22^nd of July until 30 days later. )

For me, the three weeks, nine days and Tisha B’av are difficult times where everything seems to go wrong. As soon as the period is over, however, life seems lighter and easier, even though the weather remains brutally hot. A few weeks later, however, the month of Elul follows Av and the atmosphere changes again. The tradition is that the King is in the field beginning on the first day of Elul until the Jewish New Year a month later. The Almighty is closer during that time, and it is an especially favorable opportunity for spiritual growth. Perhaps that is why the miasmic period is weeks shorter in Jewish tradition than others – the calendars are different and the preparation for the New Year intercedes.

I don’t remember feeling any kind of pall on existence in the summers when I was young, but I was going swimming, eating candy bars and having fabulous lunches – so why would I have complained?  I do remember feeling as if everything seemed to slow down at the end of the summer and not pick back up until the anticipation of going back to school began.

As with so much in life, the seasons of the year have peaks and valleys. Even though the new year begins in January on the Western calendar, midsummer often is considered a downtime followed by the anticipation of some type of new beginning as summer ends and fall begins. 

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I still enjoy delicious fresh fruit and vegetables in summer  – although usually not as fresh or good as what I remember from childhood. In the extremely hot weather in late August, sometimes all I can bear to eat for dinner is a cold soup like gazpacho. My version is based on some classic recipes but offers some options to make it easier.

Easy Gazpacho

2 pounds ripe red tomatoes cut into chunks (I prefer to peel them) or one large can (28oz) of whole tomatoes.

2 medium or three small fresh cucumbers, peeled and seeded or a large English cucumber peeled. Either way, cut them into chunks.

1 small Vidalia onion cut into eighths

1/2 large bell pepper, any color, cut into chunks

1/8 cup olive oil

2 tablespoons red wine vinegar

2 garlic cloves, peeled

1 cup tomato juice, V-8 juice or spicy V-8 juice if you like it bolder

Dash of cayenne pepper

1 tsp of celery salt

½ tsp of cumin

salt & pepper sauce to taste

Process on liquify in a powerful blender until it is a thick soup. Fix seasoning to your liking and chill for several hours or overnight. You can serve with a dollop of sour cream and croutons. You also can add chunks of avocado. If I want it to be more of a meal, I’ll also top it with pieces of kosher fake crab (made from fish). (Obviously, if you don’t keep kosher, you can use real crab or shrimp.)

Honey and Bee Stings: Facing the Good and Bad at Rosh Hashana

I think this is a meeting of the Workman's Circle Credit Union. My grandmother, Fannie Smith, is fifth from the left on the second row from bottom. My grandfather< Max Smith, is second from the left on the top row.

It’s hard to believe, but a month from now I’m going to be elbows-deep in preparing for Rosh Hashana.

Since it starts on a Friday night, I’ll probably bake my challahs on that Wednesday night or Thursday and make chicken soup the next night. I’m making tzimmes for the first time in decades and will make that a few days ahead for the flavors to mix. (My version of the stew-like dish will be made with stew beef, lemon slices, sweet potatoes, carrots and dates because I am not a fan of prunes, which are traditional.)

Another decision I’ve already made is what to do about dessert. My mother made the most amazing honey cake, which is traditionally served during the High Holidays, but none of us has been able to really replicate it. Her handwriting can be difficult to read in places, and it is not clear at one point whether you are supposed to “heat” or “beat” one mixture that goes into it. I periodically make a stab at it, and the cake turns out okay – sometimes even good – but it is not hers, which is disappointing.

(She always got extremely fresh honey from our friends who owned York Bee Company locally, and I’ve often wondered if that was the secret ingredient that made her cakes so special.)

The problem with honey cake other than the one made by my mother is that, while it is delicious when fresh and moist, it can dry out very quickly. One solution is to keep the cake wrapped and in a tin can or Tupperware but, even then, it doesn’t always maintain its freshness. My solution this year is to make honey cake in mini Bundt pans, keep it in the freezer and only take out exactly what I need for each meal.

When I checked the mailbox today, the silicone muffin pans in the shape of mini-Bundt cakes had arrived in technicolor pink and aqua. Why the Bundt cake you might ask? I think it makes a pretty cake, but a lot of my attraction is nostalgia and my somewhat nerdy obsession with little-known history.

According to Wikipedia, the shape is inspired by a traditional European cake known as Gugelhupf, but, nowadays, Bundt cakes can be any type. “The style of mold in North America was popularized in the 1950s and 1960s after cookware manufacturer Nordic Ware trademarked the name 'Bundt' and began producing Bundt pans from cast aluminum. Publicity from Pillsbury saw the cakes gain widespread popularity,” according to the explanation.

One possible etymology is from the word “bund,” which is found in Jewish-American cookbooks from around the start of the 20th century. The alternative spelling "bundte" also appeared in a recipe as early as 1901, according to Wikipedia.

And therein lies the nostalgia. “Bund” is often translated in Yiddish as “union.” It also was part of the name of a secular socialist Jewish party during the Russian Revolution, which urged Jews not to leave Eastern Europe – which was ignored by many. When immigrants like my four grandparents came to the United States to escape anti-Semitism and pogroms in that part of the world, they created groups to help them survive and build new lives. Among those were credit unions (aktsiyes in Yiddish)  and free loan societies.

The popular name for the groups was “bunds.” For get-togethers, the ladies in those groups brought cakes. In the old country, they had used kugelhopfs, a tall pan with a hole in the center that allowed the heat to penetrate the cake’s middle and ensure that the dough cooked evenly, and continued that tradition in America. The cakes they made and the pans they used became known as “bundt.”  

For those of us in southeast Georgia, the Workmen’s Circle Credit Union in Savannah – one of those credit unions -- enabled hundreds, if not thousands, of Jewish entrepreneurs to start and maintain small businesses throughout the area. (See the photo above of a meeting of the group, probably in the 1950s.)

I never realized quite how it worked until I was a young adult, maybe in my late 20s,  and needed a new car. My father knew of a good deal at a local dealership in my hometown, Jesup,  and suggested that I contact the Workman’s Circle Credit Union for financing. I called them and told them who I was and what I needed. Two days later, in the mail,  I had a check from them and the paperwork to fill out for the loan, which I returned properly. It might seem like a step or two was missing in the loan approval process, but they had worked with my family for years and knew we were good for it.

{By the way, the car I got was one of the notorious X cars – a Pontiac Phoenix. After front-wheel drive cars became more common in the U.S., mainly because of foreign cars, General Motors decided to create X-bodies, the first American-developed front-wheel drive cars introduced for the high-volume, mainstream market. They were filled with design defects, and the vast majority of the time since then, I’ve owned Japanese cars, primarily Toyota/Lexus products.}

So, I love the idea of small honey bundt cakes, how they look, how evenly they cook and how simple they will be to serve. But that isn’t the only traditional food I’ll offer.

Symbolic foods for Rosh Hashana include leeks, pomegranate, gourds (including squashes), dates, black-eyed peas, apples & honey, beets, carrots and fish heads.

I’ll start the meal with the traditional round challah, making both plain and raisin egg bread. We’ll also have apples and honey (as well as a pomegranate as the “new fruit” for the season.)

Then I’ll have baked gefilte fish in a spicy tomato sauce. (I recognize that’s not the same as a fish head, but that’s the best the delicate sensibilities of my guests will allow.)

The first course will be followed by matzo ball soup, which has leeks as an ingredient. The tzimmes will include carrots, as well as dates. I’m also serving a roast turkey breast as a main dish for my dozen or so guests on the first night (the eve) of Rosh Hashana.

The side dishes include black-eyed peas, pickled beets and a squash/zucchini salad with corn and crushed smoky almonds, a recipe I found in a recent Southern Living issue. Here is the link: https://www.southernliving.com/corn-and-squash-salad-7556364

(I plan to briefly blanch the squashes and corn before making the salad, but I’m sure the original recipe is great also.)

Those nicely incorporate several of the symbolic foods, called simanin, signs and indicators in Hebrew. The blessings for the foods include prayers for a favorable year ahead.

Filling out the sides are couscous and broccoli kugel for balance. Dessert will be the mini honey cakes and fruit. (Because I’m serving meat, nothing in the meal will include dairy products.)

As I prepare the food, I’ll think about past holidays. One that often comes to mind is the Rosh Hashana meal with the blind cantor, probably around 1992 or 1993. My cousins came for lunch on the first day at my World War I-era house in the old Atlanta neighborhood of Virginia Highland. The four kids were running in and out of the house, and one of them must have let in a wasp.

Joining us for the meal was a man hired to chant the services at the synagogue my husband and I attended less than a mile away.  He was staying with us over the holiday at the request of the synagogue and was notable for three reasons -- he disliked dogs although we had two labs; he smoked which we despised in our house, and he had very limited ability to see. For years, we have referred to him as “the blind cantor.”

The blessing over the wine was being recited when my first cousin Barbara was stung by the wasp. Unlike me, she wasn’t allergic, although the sting was painful, but she insisted she was fine. The blind cantor would hear none of it. He jumped up to get his cigarettes and pulled tobacco out of one of them.

He then tried to apply the tobacco to my cousin’s arm. She wasn’t happy about that and tried to pull away. In the tussle, the cantor knocked over the carafe of red wine, despite my husband’s efforts to throw himself across the table and catch it. It flooded my best tablecloth, which had been embroidered by the grandmother of my cousins and me. Chaos ensued. Dogs were barking, children were yelling, wine was dripping onto the rug on the floor, etc.

I don’t know what the blind cantor was thinking. Had he forgotten he couldn’t see her arm, let alone apply tobacco to a tiny dot? And shouldn’t he have asked her permission?

Somehow, we were able to mop up the wine, put on a new tablecloth and serve the meal. Barbara, Babs to us, felt better after I gave her a Benadryl, and we ended up having a lovely day.

It might have seemed like a disaster at the time, but now I laugh every time I think about it. This year, the chuckles are mixed with a few tears because my cousin Barbara died of cancer a few months ago. My husband, who later had some mental health issues, died in December 2022, less than two months after we divorced. Last year was the first Rosh Hashana I had spent without him since 1991.

But, life goes on. Some of the same cousins who were there that day will be with me this year. At the table will be two of my godchildren, my first cousins’ grandson and two foreign exchange students who weren’t even born yet in 1991. We’ll make new memories that hopefully won’t involve wasp stings and spilled red wine.

I’m wishing all of us a sweet New Year, as symbolized by the honey cakes, but also am emphasizing the importance of remembering how we got where we are, as symbolized by the Bundt cake shapes.

As the greeting goes this time of year, “May all of you be written down and inscribed for a good year.”

I keep kosher but am not a vegetarian of any kind. My guests have a range of eating issues, however. Here’s how I make vegan field peas (usually black-eyed) either dried, fresh or frozen.

If I’m using dried, I always soak them covered in water overnight and then drain and rinse them before using. Fresh or frozen go into the pot as is.

Spray the insert of your Instant Pot or other type of pressure cooker with oil. Briefly saute half a chopped small jalapeno (seeds and membrane removed if you don’t want it to be too hot) and a half cup of chopped onions in some neutral oil – canola, grapeseed, etc.

Add field peas. Season with a dash of Liquid Smoke, two teaspoons of smoked paprika, chicken soup powder or two crushed bullion squares. Add a cup of water or just enough to cover the peas, according to how much liquid you want. (If you prefer, skip the bullion and just cook in chicken broth). Cook on high pressure for 10 minutes, allowing the device to naturally release for 15 minutes.

Adjust seasoning to your preference. You can serve them warm or turn them into a salad by mixing them with chopped celery, chopped red pepper, chopped green onions and chopped parsley or cilantro for an easy salad with a dressing made with a quarter cup of Italian dressing with a teaspoon or two of Dijon mustard stirred in. Refrigerate the salad for a few hours or overnight and serve at room temperature.