Meanwhile : In praise of the four seasons

Moon Hong-kyu

The author is a principal researcher at the Korea Astronomy and Space Science Institute. 

Imagine a planet whose axis stands perfectly upright. Every morning at 6 a.m., the sun rises precisely in the east, as if set by an alarm clock. The calendar is nearing the end of June, yet opening the window brings in a crisp 10 degrees Celsius (50 degrees Fahrenheit), more like late autumn than early summer. Even after the midday sun warms the ground, the temperature never climbs above 20 C. Weather forecasters repeat the same forecast every day, and atmospheric scientists have little left to investigate.

Life would also vary dramatically by latitude. At the equator, relentless heat would make air conditioners as essential as oxygen tanks. Near the poles, days would feel colder than a refrigerator and nights as frigid as a freezer. At 6 p.m., the sun would sink exactly in the west and half the day would immediately give way to a long night.

In the mid-latitudes, the weather would resemble spring or late autumn throughout the year. People would no longer worry about heating or cooling bills or struggle to decide what to wear as the seasons changed. Without seasonal shifts, there would be no such thing as out-of-season clothing. Heavy winter parkas and shorts would gather dust except on vacations. A few light jackets and transitional outfits would be enough for an entire year.

Yet such comfort would come at a cost. Because day and night would always be equal in length, flowers that depend on changing daylight and temperatures — sunflowers, roses and Korea's national flower, the rose of Sharon — would struggle to bloom. Apricots and plums would likely face the same fate. Apples and pears, whose sweetness develops after enduring winter, would rarely be found growing naturally. Seasonal fruit would become an expensive luxury, cultivated under artificial lights with nutrient solutions rather than in orchards.

As I imagine such a strange planet, one whose axis stands perfectly upright, I suddenly find myself longing for Earth. I miss streets lined with cherry blossoms, the first bite of a ripe watermelon, the rustle of autumn leaves and childhood memories of building snowmen.

The summer solstice, the year's longest day, has already passed. Long-range forecasts warn of another exceptionally hot summer, making me brace for soaring electricity bills. Mosquitoes buzz relentlessly and sweat stings my eyes. Sleepless tropical nights during the hottest weeks of summer may test our patience. Still, Earth, with its tilted axis and four distinct seasons, remains a remarkable place. The very inconveniences we complain about make this planet richer, more beautiful and perhaps, in its own way, something close to paradise.