Purple loosestrife and wild cucumber are blooming conspicuously around damp and wet areas. Sandhill crane colts have reached nearly full grown size. Many of the deer flies disappeared and mornings are often cooler and less humid than July's. I’m not sure whether it’s tree frogs, crickets, something else, or all of the above that Harry the beagle and I hear chirping on our early morning walks. Minnesota’s primary election has come and gone. With some luck and lots of effort, the general election may produce a blue tsunami come November. “And the seasons, they go round and round” ~ Joni Mitchell -- The Circle Game.
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| whitetail fawn, back yard, early August
Photo by J. Harrington
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My favorite part of the year is coming up. From the Autumn Equinox through Winter Solstice seasonal observations and activities most appeal to my tastes (with an exception for political advertisements). Although I don’t migrate like many birds and dragonflies, I do seem to get more restless in our third season, a condition Ms. Mitchell wonderfully captures in her song Urge for Going.
More and more birds are lining up on the wires between telephone poles.Wild turkey poults are almost the size of chickens. Fawns still have their spots. Some small grain fields have been harvested. Some corn stalk leaves have browned. The elderberry bushes in the wet spot behind the house are covered in berries which are attracting birds as the nearby goldenrod attracts butterflies. Milkweed pods are still green and solid. Minnesota’s wild rice harvest season has begun, as has the Minnesota Vikings preseason football schedule.
Last week a youngish (yearling?) black bear visited our deck at 7:30 am, in bright sunshine, to help him/herself to the bird feeder. I opened the walkout door to the deck and growled/snarled at him/her. The young’un promptly dropped to all four paws and scampered down the stairs and off into the woods bordering the back yard. Country living isn’t all peace and quiet.
The Summer Day
Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean—
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down—
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
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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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