To Summer, As a Verb
Written By : Hannah Corbett
Lately, I can’t go five minutes without hearing someone use “summer” as a verb.
“Oh, I summer in Nantucket.”
“We always summer in the Hamptons.”
“This year, we’re summering in Europe.”
Summering. Not just vacationing. Not a week-long escape. Not even a multi-stop adventure. No, no, they summer. As in, they pack up their lives and relocate for the entire season, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.
And I’m left with one question: How?
Is there a secret money tree they forgot to tell the rest of us about? Did someone leave behind a beach house in their will? Or is it just a generation of “one more swipe can’t hurt” and Apple Pay-ing their way into a Montauk rental? Because honestly, I’m one crash out and a Pinterest board away from doing the same.
To be fair, I’ve had a great run of summer escapes. Two weeks here, three weeks there. Multiple vacations that have broken up the summer months beautifully. I’ve dipped my toes in the water, literally and figuratively, but I’ve never moved in for the season. Never packed up my belongings and called another zip code home from Memorial Day to Labor Day.
And I think, at the ripe age of 25, that might just be my ultimate dream:
To summer. Somewhere.
To have a place that’s yours for the season. Where your stuff lives. Where your friends and family can pop in for a long weekend (or three). Where everyone has their own bedroom. Where the kitchen is stocked and the porch is familiar. Where you know the barista’s name and your favorite restaurant remembers your face.
To have summer friends. Summer rituals. A walk to the beach that feels like second nature. Hydrangeas blooming out front and sand in the hallway no one bothers to sweep because it just belongs there.
That, to me, is the dream.
I get glimpses of it, when I go to Long Beach Island or Martha’s Vineyard. That tug of nostalgia. That sense of knowing a place, of a memory already forming. A subtle whisper that says, ‘you could live here, not forever, but for a while’.
And maybe that’s what “summering” really is. It’s not just about luxury or status ( sometimes it is), but it’s also about belonging. About claiming time and space for the joy of slowing down, for seasonal identity. It’s a soft kind of wealth, not just in money, but in presence.
So no, I haven’t quite figured out how to summer yet. But the dream is alive and very well. I’m manifesting the front porch. The striped beach chairs. The corner café. The drawer that’s already stocked with bathing suits and SPF. A second home that holds my summer self.
Maybe next year or maybe when the credit card stops side-eyeing me. But someday, I will summer.
And when I do, you’ll know exactly where to find me.