Hot and humid, that’s summer weather where I come from and that’s what we’ve had yesterday and today. More thunderstorms are forecast for this afternoon, tonight, and tomorrow. The dogs are just recovering from all the thunder-boomers in the last batch of storms that moved through. The rest of the week shows some promise to be quieter and more seasonal. Once the rain stops, I’m going to need to catch up on mowing and may finally get the poison ivy dosed with a herbicide, if the wind dies down.
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| passing thunderstorm clouds
Photo by J. Harrington
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I’ve been looking at the MNDNR’s Anoka Sand Plain conservation concerns report. I find it better organized and more useful than the book on Minnesota’s St. Croix River Valley and Anoka Sandplain, A Guide to Native Habitats. Neither is particularly helpful in identifying plants and ground cover appropriate to the sandy soils and ecological characteristics of our property. Minnesota’s Master Naturalist courses don’t seem to have one that’s a good fit with our borderline location between big woods-big river and northwoods-great lakes options. I’ll continue to poke around and see if there are resources I’ve missed. We’re exploring doing some conservation planting of about an acre to improve ground nesting habitat and sources for pollinators and finding a most appropriate seed mix is a challenge.
Meanwhile, the purple vetch has come into bloom, and the large beardtongue is erupting into flower all around our fields. Turtles have been laying egges and crossing roads and sandhill cranes have been showing their colts around. Soon we may see some whitetail fawns’ spots bounding over the property. That’s what happens as spring turns into summer.
Travelling Storm
The sky, above us here, is open again.
The sun comes hotter, and the shingles steam.
The trees are done with dripping, and the hens
Bustle among bright pools to pick and drink. . . .
But east and south are black with speeding storm.
That thunder, low and far, remembering nothing,
Gathers a new world under it and growls,
Worries, strikes, and is gone. Children at windows
Cry at the rain, it pours so heavily down,
Drifting across the yard till the sheds are grey. . . .
A county father on, the wind is all—
A swift dark wind that turns the maples pale,
Ruffles the hay, and spreads the swallows’ wings.
Horses, suddenly restless, are unhitched,
And men, with glances upward, hurry in;
Their overalls blow full and cool; they shout;
Soon they will lie in barns and laugh at the lightning. . . .
Another county yet, and the sky is still;
The air is fainting; women sit with fans
And wonder when a rain will come that way.
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Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.
Please be kind to each other while you can.
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