A Modest Proposal

JULIA SPENCER-FLEMING

We live in dark times. No, I'm not talking about politics, or North Korean nuclear missiles, or the fact that every single man in a position of power seems to be a lecherous creep. I'm talking about the return of my nemesis, Standard Time. It's been a week since we "fell back"- how are you feeling about it? Me, I hate it.

In southern Maine, where I reside, the sun sets today at 4:22 p.m. Of course, when you live in a land completely covered by a) trees and b) hills, sunset is a pretty fluid concept. The last I usually see of the Helios' chariot (Look, Mom, my liberal arts degree at work!) is four-ish, with blinkered darkness swallowing up everything about ten minutes after the listed sunset. Yes, I know that "Civil Twilight" doesn't end for another hour. I'm pretty sure whoever comes up with those civil twilight designations is taking measurements at the flattest part of the Great Plains, where the tallest thing obscuring the setting sun is a gopher. Or ground hog. Whatever they are out in the golden west.

One of the worst aspects of Standard Time is knowing that the days are getting squeezed from both ends, like a dish towel being wrung dry. Right now we're down to nine hours fifty-one minutes of daylight (keeping in mind those trees and hills blocking the view) and it's all downhill from there. We won't be back to this length of day until February 1st, and at that point, we in New England will likely be entombed with snow and ice. It's difficult to kick back with a cocktail and celebrate the lengthening days when you're trying to make sure the pipes don't freeze in the walls. 

Yes, our friends and neighbors have it worse in Alaska. They count down to five and half hours of daylight at the winter solstice, and I'm pretty sure the giant mountains all over the place means they're actually seeing half of that, in a way not dissimilar to the sun creeping into the cell of the Man in the Iron Mask for a brief interlude. However, Alaskans do have the benefit of a) crazy long days in summer b) the sweet, sweet checks from the Permanent Fund and c) Dana Stabenow.

I have a proposed solution of this unfortunate state of affairs; one now within reach due to the March of Progress. I move we set the official time of sunset at 6pm every evening from October through March. It's true that in the past, our reliance on analog clocks meant that everyone in every time zone had to have their watches set in lockstep, so that, for instance, Lucy and I can look out our windows at five o'clock exactly, but I will see grim leafless darkness and she will see palm trees and sunshine (because her sunset today isn't until 5:42.) But let's be real. How many of us use clocks with hands to tell time anymore? We're all on our phones/tablets/computers, digital devices hooked up to the internet. Correcting two or three or four minutes a day in order to keep sunset always at six is child's play for our tech overlords.

Speaking of children, I can hear your objections. "But Julia," you say. "Think of the kids waiting for the school bus in morning! In the darkness!" In the first place, kids love the dark. You practically have to get them into bed by gunpoint every evening. Think how much they'll enjoy the thrill of being outside beneath the stars during morning recess! Secondly, I'm pretty sure the number of kids who get knocked over by cars while waiting for the school bus is greatly exaggerated. The sun doesn't rise until 10 a.m. in Anchorage in December, and the papers aren't full of stories of Alaskan students getting run over all winter long. To assuage parental fears, I will gladly donate to a fund to equip all students K through 12 with appropriate safety gear. After all, as the proverb says, it's better to light a single LL Bean head lamp than to curse the darkness.

Let us rise up, peoples of the north, and take back our evenings! We have nothing to lose but our seasonally adjusted depression!