Can Summer have a nadir?

Heat, humidity, thunderstorms, tornado watches, deer flies, smoke from Canadian wildfires -- must be Summer in the North Country. At least the air conditioning has kept working so far, although that hasn't done much to dissipate the heat under my collar generated by all the nonsense emanating from the political sector this week.

four-spotted skimmer dragonfly

Photo by J. Harrington

I did a quick check yesterday and learned that many (but not enough to satisfy me) creatures feed on deer flies. Last summer and this one we've had a superabundance of deer flies and a sparsity of dragon flies. I have no idea what's going on there except I like it better when there's more dragonflies eating deer flies so there's fewer deer flies trying to eat me. Plus, I just like dragonflies.

We've finally started to see some wild turkey poults with the hens. It's obvious the poults have no idea wnat a motor vehicle is all about but they do a pretty good job of following "mom" into the weedy roadside ditches and disappearing. The pale bracts of spotted horsemint (Monarda punctata) have become obvious in the fields behind the house. 

We're rapidly approaching the festival of Lughnasadh on August 1. Summer begins to slide into harvest season which flows into Autumn. This summer has been one of the least enjoyable I can remember, compounded by the fact that I've yet to wet a fly line (see first sentence above).

The Dragonfly

by Louise Bogan

You are made of almost nothing
But of enough
To be great eyes
And diaphanous double vans;
To be ceaseless movement,
Unending hunger,
Grappling love.

Link between water and air,
Earth repels you.
Light touches you only to shift into iridescence
Upon your body and wings.

Twice-born, predator,
You split into the heat.
Swift beyond calculation or capture
You dart into the shadow
Which consumes you.

You rocket into the day.
But at last, when the wind flattens the grasses,
For you, the design and purpose stop.

And you fall
With the other husks of summer.  

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Summertime, and the living is ...?

Some of the local corn fields have started to tassel. Deer fly numbers have erupted. Temperatures have been above what's considered "normal." Although it seems like it's been a wet year, year-to-date precipitation is close to normal according to the state climatology office. It's once again becoming clear to me why Autumn is my favorite season, although we've been enjoying lots of berries (and ice cream) for desert and that helps offset the discomfort recent humidity has been creating.

Swamp Milkweed (Asclepias incarnata)

Photo by J. Harrington

Over the past couple of weeks, mouse activity has increased to a level we usually see in late August and early September. I can't even begin to guess why. Almost every day I've had to empty and reset at least one of the traps.

On a more cheery topic, some of the wild flower seeds we've scattered over the past few years are producing blossoms this year. We have some black-eyed Susans joining the butterfly weed on the slope behind the house. There's also a different yellow flower that's not yet been identified. The pear tree looks to have at least some pears this year and one of the whitetail does was regularly feeding under the tree for a week or so in the afternoon. Last, for now, but far from least, swamp milkweed is blooming near the wet spot behind the house. While doing some yard work today I saw what I think was a Monarch butterfly on one of the purple(?) flowers.

Despite some anomalous episodes, I find it reassuring to note that much of nature is behaving pretty much as expected and/or as climate scientists told us to expect. Decades ago a little llater in this season, I enjoyed watching Janis Joplin in concert at Harvard Stadium. Here's a version of one of the high points from her set list that night: Summertime (sorry about the opening ads).

Answer July

by Emily Dickinson

386

Answer July -

Where is the Bee -

Where is the Blush -

Where is the Hay?

Ah, said July -

Where is the Seed -

Where is the Bud -

Where is the May -

Answer Thee - Me -

Nay - said the May -

Show me the Snow -

Show me the Bells -

Show me the Jay!

Quibbled the Jay -

Where be the Maize -

Where be the Haze -

Where be the Bur?

Here - said the Year -

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Big yellow taxi

Effective tomorrow, our days will be 20 minutes shorter than they were on the Solstice and daylight will continue to shrink until we reach and pass the Winter Solstice. Have you noticed the loss? For many, probably most of US, natural cycles are largely incidental to the significant aspects of our lives, especially if we work a 9 to 5, 5 day a week job. Joni Mitchell wrote and performs a song (Big Yellow Taxi) prescient for these times. It includes the refrain:

Don't it always seem to go
That you don't know what you've got
Till it's gone
They paved paradise
And put up a parking lot 

storm clouds on the horizon

Photo by J. Harrington

I've been retired for some years now and have tried to become more aware of and sensitive to seasonal changes, but I don't get out fishing and hunting as much as I used to, am not really a gardener nor a forager, and am only indirectly dependent on nature for many of life's necessities. Yes, this weekend's Canadian wildfire smoke is a threat to breathing fresh air but it should be gone by tomorrow and, other than staying inside, there's not much I can do about it. We depend on our private well for drinking, cooking, and bathing water and have it tested a couple of times a year for hardness. We had a comprehensive test some years ago and there's no obvious local source of nitrates nor are there babies in the house anymore so we rarely follow the Health Department's testing recommendations.

In our county, we get siren alarms when there are severe thunderstorms. The house is outside the current 100 year flood plain. I'm not sure when, how or if climate breakdown will prompt a redelineation or the identification of a 500- or 1000-year flood plain. We lack the Texas' Hill Country's history of flash flooding so ....

Much of the preceding has been prompted by the July 4th disaster in Texas and my growing concern about the continuing lack of effective response to the IPCC warnings about continued emission of greenhouse gases and the effects on our weather/climate. In my opinion, recent actions by Congress and the current regime smack of malfeasance in light of the risks and threats to the safety and security of the country's population and future. Have we all become Texans in spirit?

Let Them Not Say

by Jane Hirshfield

Let them not say: we did not see it.
We saw.

Let them not say: we did not hear it.
We heard.

Let them not say: they did not taste it.
We ate, we trembled.

Let them not say: it was not spoken, not written.
We spoke,
we witnessed with voices and hands.

Let them not say: they did nothing.
We did not-enough.

Let them say, as they must say something:

A kerosene beauty.
It burned.

Let them say we warmed ourselves by it,
read by its light, praised,
and it burned.

—2014

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Abundance and Reciprocity

Summer's midpoint is about a month away, on August 7, unless, like many of the Celts, we recognize only two seasons, in which case Summer solstice was also midsummer, half way between the two equinoxes. Since Minnesota is (in)famous for its two seasons of either winter or road work, I'm not sure where that leaves us. Each, in its own way, is exceptionally irritating and this road work season's trials and tribulations are compounded by roads being buckled by well above (historic) normal temperatures. At least we've not (yet) reached the level of flash flooding Texas is experiencing these days.

butterfly weed in bloom

Photo by J. Harrington

Locally, butterfly weed has started to bloom. Roadsides are also brightened by black-eyed Susans and what I think is bird's-foot trefoil. Many Eastern-tailed blue butterflies have been flitting around the driveway. Yard work is getting done in bits and pieces and short bursts in between downpours and unworkable levels of heat and humidity. Storms keep bringing down more branches, and an occasional tree, which have to get cleaned up before the mowing can occur. 

I suspect lots of folks in Gaza and Ukraine would be only too happy to trade problems with me, even if I add in a raccoon that twice yesterday tried to feed from the bird feeder and mention that it looks like deer, rabbits, or somethings, have managed to do in the serviceberry bushes I planted a couple of weeks ago. Maybe they'll recover. We'll wait and see (with extremely lowered expectations).

One of the bigger concerns I have these days is that we're living in a time of sliding baselines in environmental, societal and political sectors. I'm too often hearing in my head the line from Me and Bobby McGee "freedom's just another word for nothin' left to lose." Is a freedom with nothing left to lose what we really want as a country? Or, do we need to include responsibility to balance our freedom? Have you read Robin Wall Kimmerer's The Serviceberry? It offers a helpful and healthy alternative to our current situation.

Solstice

by Jane Hirshfield

The Earth today tilts one way, then another.

And yes, though all things change,
this night again will watch its fireflies,
then go in to a bed with sheets,
to lights, a beloved.

To running water cold and hot.

Take nothing for granted,
you who were also opulent, a stung cosmos.

Birds sang, frogs sang, their sufficient unto.
The late-night rain-bringing thunder.

And if days grew ordinarily shorter,
the dark’s mirror lengthened,

and one’s gain was not the other lessened.

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Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.
Please be kind to each other while you can.