As solstice nears

More and more of the yellow goat's beard (Tragopogon dubius) has turned petals to seedheads. Meanwhile, our local milkweed is still several weeks from blossoming. Trillium is past it's prime and the flowers are largely gone. Still no sightings of whitetail fawns.

yellow goat's beard seed head

Photo by J. Harrington

Our day lily plants have developed flower buds so they should start flowering sometime soon, later this year than we've come to expect. Lots of dragonflies continue to patrol the neighborhood, although so do lots of mosquitos. More dragonflies, bluebirds, and tree swallows would be wonderful. I much prefer the song of a bird to the hummmm! of an insect, although I realize the latter helps provide for the former.

perched dragonfly

Photo by J. Harrington

Many years ago there was a comic strip called "Miss Peach," about a kindergarten teacher, her students and school. If I recall correctly, one of the students, Arthur Strimm, had a "law of efficiency." He never did anything until someone told him at least twice. Since lots of folks forgot after they told him the first time, he saved his energy by waiting for the repeated request of command. I've found myself in a similar position recently. Things I put off doing, as I think about doing  them a second time, I realize what I wanted to do in the first place is kind of dumb. Here's an example:

I've been meaning to mark my fly lines at 10, 20 and 30 yards. That way I'd more easily estimate how much line I was casting compared to how far away a trout was rising. Well, the likelihood I'd ever manage a 30 yard (90 foot) cast in this lifetime is slim to none. Even a 20 yard (60 foot) cast is pushing it for me. I'll be better, and more realistically, served by marking my lines at 5, 10 and 15 yards. That's what I'll start with during this afternoon's storms. Arthur, and most like him, are brighter than they seem at first glance. It's the folks like me, who suffer grandiose OCD symptoms much of the time, that need a keeper.

Fly, Dragonfly!

By Joyce Sidman

Water nymph, you have

climbed from the shallows to don

your dragon-colors.

Perched on a reed stem

all night, shedding your skin, you dry

your wings in moonlight.

Night melts into day.

Swift birds wait to snap you up.

Fly, dragonfly! Fly!

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