Does Minnesota have #phenology folklore?

The legislative session, such as it was, is over. The breezes are out of the South. Clouds are piling up. The temperature is in the mid-70s. It's (un)officially steamy and summery, even if not yet officially Summer. The number of dragonflies flying is increasing. More and more columbine flowers are blooming. Bees visit their down-hanging flowers. Swallowtail butterflies are checking out various plants. If it weren't for the aforementioned breezes, I'd be somewhere "standing in a river, waving a stick" as John Gierach writes, but 15 to 20 mph breezes make fly-fishing more annoying than fun.

bee in pansy

Photo by J. Harrington

Meanwhile, I've discovered that watching the bees (not as large as bumblebees, but larger than honeybees) climb up into the columbine flowers is done more comfortably looking out from a downstairs window than looking up while lying prone in the garden. Probably another sign of old age and, maybe, some wisdom finally sinking in. The other thing I've learned from experience is that the breezes we're enjoying aren't conducive to getting in-focus photos of flowers while they're being blown about.

lilac leaves way larger than mouse's ear

Photo by J. Harrington

Looking at the dates on past year's pictures of hoary puccoon and columbine, I can be certain that specimens of each have bloomed in May and June. It appears that they may often precede but overlap with beardtongue (Penstemon grandiflorus). At least that's the way my photos tell the story. On the other hand, I'm starting to suspect I'm being too rigid with this "what blooms before what sequencing." It's not like the 25 Days of Advent, is it? I remember from my Massachusetts' days it was time to look for striped bass in Cape Cod Bay when lilac leaves were the size of a mouse's ear, or something like that. (I learned that a year when I was living somewhere with no lilac bushes handy.) It probably would do me some good to do a little more research on phenology folklore for Minnesota.

Folklore

By Dean Young

You shouldn’t have a heart attack

in your 20s. 47 is the perfect time

for a heart attack. Feeding stray shadows

only attracts more shadows. Starve a fever,

shatter a glass house. People often mistake

thirst for hunger so first take a big slurp.

A motorboat is wasted on me even though

all summer the pool was, I didn’t

get in it once. Not in it, not in it

twice. A dollhouse certainly isn’t wasted

on a mouse both in terms of habitation

and rhyme. Always leave yourself time

to get lost. 50 cattle are enough

for a decent dowry but sometimes a larger

gesture is called for like shouting

across the Grand Canyon. Get used to

nothing answering back. Always remember

the great effects of the Tang poets,

the meagerness of their wine, meagerness

of writing supplies. Go ahead, drown

in the moon’s puddle. Contusions

are to be expected and a long wait

in ICU under the muted TVs advertising

miracle knives and spot removers.

How wonderful to be made entirely

of hammered steel! No one knows why

Lee chose to divert his troops to Gettysburg

but all agree it was the turning point

of the Civil War. Your turining point

may be lying crying on the floor.

Get up! The perfect age for being buried

alive in sand is 8 but jumping up 33, alluding

to the resurrection, a powerful motif

in Western art but then go look at the soup cans

and crumpled fenders in the modern wing:

what a relief. Nearly 80% of the denizens

of the deep can produce their own light

but up here, we make our own darkness.

********************************************
Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.
Please be kind to each other while you can.