For the last three years, summertime in Portland hasn't begun until the first week in August. Until August 1st you better be wearing a light sweater or your nipples may just explode all over the heirloom tomato dealer at the farmer's market.  I suppose this sort of chilly summer weather is the envy of most of the country. My poor grandma dot hasn't left her Jersey shore house in weeks for fear of melting in her car. 

Most Portlanders take proper advantage of our 26 (or so) full-sunshine days by doing the following:

Purchasing cheap inflatable devices, packing a 12-pack of beer in a cooler, and floating down the placid Sandy River with a lap dog 

Hanging out on the Bluffs while playing a variety of handmade string instruments

Juggling golden beets under a fir tree at Irvington Park

Riding a unicycle along the Willamette in a muslin kilt

Playing a game of naked softball at Kelly Point Park

Sitting in a large vat of chilled and cubed Hermiston watermelons

Gathering on front porches in nothing but suspenders and underwear and braiding each other's ass-length hair