Here comes Summer! #phenology

With less than a week to go until Summer solstice, it's time to take a look at what once was thought to be "normal" for that season. Back in January, the National Weather Service Twin Cities Office shared the following chart (ignore the "You Are Here" message from January). Starting Saturday, we will be entering a Summer season of 93 days, 15 hours and some odd minutes. During that period, our normal daily high temperature should be 70℉ or above. In fact, the actual daily high is likely to be much more variable than the average daily high. Tuesday and Wednesday are forecast to be 90℉ or more. Either or both of those days are up for consideration of standing  in a cool trout stream for several hours if the wind ever stops blowing.

Summer sunflowers in bloom

Photo by J. Harrington

Greta Kaul at MinnPost has created some delightful seasonal guides for Minnesota. Her signs of Summer include:

• wild prairie rose blooms
• showy lady's slipper blooms
• Canadian service berry fruit
• harebell blooms
• brown-eyed Susan blooms
• orange day lily blooms
• sunflower blooms
• bee balm blooms
• prairie blazing star blooms
• rattlesnake master blooms
• Virginia strawberry fruit
• New England aster blooms

The Summer months are prime time for seeing most of our dragonflies of the North Woods. June is also the month when our local black bears begin to check yards and trash barrels for snacks. Our compost tumbler was tipped over last night or the night before. We didn't see the culprit, but I doubt anyone but a bear is likely to and capable of tipping over the mostly full compost tumbler. We learned the hard way to bring in bird feeders during Spring, Summer and Fall but, a couple of years ago lost our patio screening to a bruin that wanted to be sure there was nothing to eat on the deck. Country living has its annoyances, but, so far, the rewards greatly outweigh them.

Summer in a Small Town

By Tony Hoagland

Yes, the young mothers are beautiful,

with all the self-acceptance of exhaustion,

still dazed from their great outpouring,

pushing their strollers along the public river walk.

And the day is also beautiful—the replica 19th-century paddle-wheeler

perpetually moored at the city wharf

                with its glassed-in bar and grill

for the lunch-and-cocktail-seekers

who come for the Mark Twain Happy Hour

which lasts as long as the Mississippi.

This is the kind of town where the rush hour traffic halts

                to let three wild turkeys cross the road,

and when the high school music teacher retires

after thirty years

the movie marquee says, “Thanks Mr. Biddleman!”

and the whole town comes to hear

                the tuba solos of old students.

Summer, when the living is easy

and we store up pleasure in our bodies

like fat, like Eskimos,

for the coming season of privation.

All August the Ferris wheel will turn

                           in the little amusement park,

and screaming teenage girls will jump into the river

with their clothes on,

right next to the No Swimming sign.

Trying to cool the heat inside the small towns

                                               of their bodies,

for which they have no words;

obedient to the voice inside which tells them,

“Now. Steal Pleasure.”

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