Summer's here, there, everywhere!

Tomorrow is supposed to get very hot (mid-90's). The rest of the week's forecasts include thunderstorms. Summer has arrived a couple of weeks prior to the solstice. My dog, SiSi, gets really nervous when she hears thunder. She woke me about 3:15 am and continued to seek protection and comforting until the terrible noises went away about 6:30 or 7:30. We managed to accomplish our morning walk without getting poured on or hit by lightning, so the day has already enjoyed some successes. (Yes, I have lowered my expectations that much.)

SiSi, the Brave

Photo by J. Harrington

Another bright spot was seeing a couple of white admiral butterflies along the driveway this morning. We've also seen some orange butterflies the Better Half claims are monarchs and I assert were too far away for positive identification but admit that increasing numbers of monarchs have reached Minnesota.

white admiral butterfly

Photo by J. Harrington

We have some nice breezes that would tempt me to fly my dragon kite, except the wind direction would lift the kite toward the treeline, rather than away from it. The kite and I will await more opportune conditions, possibly after the upcoming week.

We're now faced with about a one month break between our Spring Greens CSA share and the Summer share which starts on July 10. This might be a good time to focus on fly-fishing and scouting for berry foraging. Perhaps I'll even consider breaking down and think about getting caught up(?) on chores. Meanwhile, please be sure to stay safe and healthy. That's gotten to be a challenge these days.

Little Summer Poem Touching The Subject Of Faith

by Mary Oliver

Every summer
I listen and look
under the sun's brass and even
into the moonlight, but I can't hear 

anything, I can't see anything --
not the pale roots digging down, nor the green
stalks muscling up,
nor the leaves
deepening their damp pleats, 

nor the tassels making,
nor the shucks, nor the cobs.
And still,
every day, 

the leafy fields
grow taller and thicker --
green gowns lofting up in the night,
showered with silk.  

And so, every summer,
I fail as a witness, seeing nothing --
I am deaf too
to the tick of the leaves,  

the tapping of downwardness from the banyan feet --
all of it
happening
beyond any seeable proof, or hearable hum.  

And, therefore, let the immeasurable come.
Let the unknowable touch the buckle of my spine.
Let the wind turn in the trees,
and the mystery hidden in the dirt 

swing through the air.
How could I look at anything in this world
and tremble, and grip my hands over my heart?
What should I fear?  

One morning
in the leafy green ocean
the honeycomb of the corn's beautiful body
is sure to be there.

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