We saw the first “Back to school” ads recently. Many of the local roads are under repair in various and sundry places. Weather is heated, humid, and gusty. The county fair ended last week. Our state fair starts in about a month. If the Jamies were around, they’d be singing “Summertime, Summertime.” (That proves how old I am.)
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| a field of round bales of hay
Photo by J. Harrington
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About all the corn fields are tasseling / have tasseled. Most of the local farmers are cutting, raking, baling and hauling hay. I was delighted to see a dragonfly this morning. Thunderstorms are in this evening’s forecast. At least we don’t have to shovel thunder and lightning and the dogs seem to enjoy their Hemp treats for calming when the storms arrive.
As an early riser most days, I’ve noticed that the days are getting shorter at the top end. Times that a month ago were sunrise are now first light. Turkey poults have grown a bunch. The season of growing continues although mid-week this week, on August 1, is Lughnasadh, the Celtic festival marking the start of harvest. This week is looking like a great time to dig out our copy of Janis Joplin’s version of “Summertime” and mellow out.
In Summer Time
When summer time has come, and all
The world is in the magic thrall
Of perfumed airs that lull each sense
To fits of drowsy indolence;
When skies are deepest blue above,
And flow'rs aflush,—then most I love
To start, while early dews are damp,
And wend my way in woodland tramp
Where forests rustle, tree on tree,
And sing their silent songs to me;
Where pathways meet and pathways part,—
To walk with Nature heart by heart,
Till wearied out at last I lie
Where some sweet stream steals singing by
A mossy bank; where violets vie
In color with the summer sky,—
Or take my rod and line and hook,
And wander to some darkling brook,
Where all day long the willows dream,
And idly droop to kiss the stream,
And there to loll from morn till night—
Unheeding nibble, run, or bite—
Just for the joy of being there
And drinking in the summer air,
The summer sounds, and summer sights,
That set a restless mind to rights
When grief and pain and raging doubt
Of men and creeds have worn it out;
The birds' song and the water's drone,
The humming bee's low monotone,
The murmur of the passing breeze,
And all the sounds akin to these,
That make a man in summer time
Feel only fit for rest and rhyme.
Joy springs all radiant in my breast;
Though pauper poor, than king more blest,
The tide beats in my soul so strong
That happiness breaks forth in song,
And rings aloud the welkin blue
With all the songs I ever knew.
O time of rapture! time of song!
How swiftly glide thy days along
Adown the current of the years,
Above the rocks of grief and tears!
'Tis wealth enough of joy for me
In summer time to simply be.
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Please be kind to each other while you can.
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