The end of June begins July

Today is the last Sunday in June 2020. July begins in a few days. Look for the [Ojibwe] full moon [Miin-giizis (Berry Moon)] next weekend on Independence Day. By then, we will have lost 7 minutes of daylight since the Summer solstice on June 21, but it still will be awhile until Jack Frost returns, although the prospect of a hard frost that thins out the deer flies and mosquitos has some real appeal.

oriole at grape feeder

Photo by J. Harrington

This morning we enjoyed one of the occasional visits Baltimore orioles have recently been making to the grape feeder. Unfortunately, the grape jelly is also attracting increasing numbers of yellow jackets, so we're taking it down and putting it away until next Spring. The orioles will have to settle for sharing the nectar feeder with hummingbirds and woodpeckers.

early July milkweed blossoms

Photo by J. Harrington

Still no appearances of local whitetail fawns or wild turkey poults and very little of the milkweed is in bloom yet. There are noticeably fewer dragon flies. The back yard brush pile continues to regrow. The next Celtic / Druidic / Pagan festival is "Lughnasadh on August 1st, which marks the beginning of harvest time." It's funny how, when I was back in school, Summer seemed to last almost forever. These days it seems to be gone almost as soon as it arrives, except for those hot, humid spells that never seem to end.  Let's all see what we can do to have a safe, healthy, and happy Summer this year so we can celebrate with Blue fireworks on Independence day 2021.

Milkweed

Helen Hunt Jackson

O patient creature with a peasant face, 
Burnt by the summer sun, begrimed with stains, 
And standing humbly in the dingy lanes! 
There seems a mystery in thy work and place, 
Which crowns thee with significance and grace; 
Whose is the milk that fills thy faithful veins? 
What royal nursling comes at night and drains 
Unscorned the food of the plebeian race? 
By day I mark no living thing which rests 
On thee, save butterflies of gold and brown, 
Who turn from flowers that are more fair, more sweet, 
And, crowding eagerly, sink fluttering down, 
And hang, like jewels flashing in the heat, 
Upon thy splendid rounded purple breasts.

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