Illegitimi non carborundum*

Hints of gold are arriving amongst the greens of roadside grasses. Splashes and tints of tan can be seen in the verdant treetops. We're about a third of the way through August. Rumor has it that grammar school students have started to announce, with dismay: "Summer's almost over! Soon we'll be back in school!!" I'm discounting a number of reports about adults responding "Yes!!!" Even in this day and age I'm not ready to believe in that level of cruelty.

wild turkeys walking through August-ripe grasses

Photo by J. Harrington

About 3 am we were awakened by a round of thunder and lightning, and rain, that had been forecast for several hours later. It's been cloudy much of the day. Temperatures have pretty much dropped out of the nineties, for which we are thankful. In the midst of the current and continuing national and international madness, I'm really looking forward to Autumn's arrival, followed by the mid-term elections. Will the fractured and fragmented Democrats unite enough to oust the party of pedophile protecting Republicans? Will POtuS find a way to successfully disrupt the election outcome? If so, how will the country respond? The United States is emulating that old joke: "I'm not the man (country) I used to be; never was." If only we had no where to go but up. Do you think we've hit bottom yet? Are enough voters fed up with an international crime syndicate masquerading as a government? How bad and wide-spread do the wildfires and droughts have to get?

Meanwhile as I rearrange the deck chairs on our Titanic, I've been fly-fishing several weeks in a row now. That's an improvement over the past few years. All I've caught so far is one bush on a misplaced backcast, but that's better than staying home, not catching anything, and then bitching about not going fishing because it's too windy wet, etc. A similar perspective might be beneficial come voting time. I don't like being faced with an option of choosing the lesser of two options, but would like it even less if the greater clown won by one vote because I stayed home. Meanwhile, we'll probably wear out the tv's mute button due to political ads during the next couple of months. Maybe if we're good little girls and boys, by Christmas this will all be over until 2028 at least!

*  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Illegitimi_non_carborundum

Good Bones

Maggie Smith

Life is short, though I keep this from my children.
Life is short, and I’ve shortened mine
in a thousand delicious, ill-advised ways,
a thousand deliciously ill-advised ways
I’ll keep from my children. The world is at least
fifty percent terrible, and that’s a conservative
estimate, though I keep this from my children.
For every bird there is a stone thrown at a bird.
For every loved child, a child broken, bagged,
sunk in a lake. Life is short and the world
is at least half terrible, and for every kind
stranger, there is one who would break you,
though I keep this from my children. I am trying
to sell them the world. Any decent realtor,
walking you through a real shithole, chirps on
about good bones: This place could be beautiful,
right? You could make this place beautiful.

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

As Summer slowly slides south

Neighborhood sumac is starting to show red leaves among the green. Goldenrod is blooming. Whitetail bucks are in velvet. Early this morning (pre day-break) held a delightfully coolish hint of September. Yesterday was Lughnasadh. Summer's slide into Autumn has started. Let's enjoy the ride.

which goldenrod species is this?

Photo by J. Harrington

This morning I discovered the there's about a dozen and a half varieties/species of goldenrod in Minnesota. Most of them are native to our county. I have, thus far, failed miserably in identifying the species in the photo above. There's lots of them growing on our property. My preliminary guess is Canada goldenrod (Solidago canadensis). Your thoughts?

Thanks to the initiative, invitations and considerations of the Son-In-Law, I've been fishing twice this past week. That would be twice as often as I have during the past couple of years except that twice zero is zero. It felt good to get out and again play with some of my toys, despite an uncooperative breeze and a river full of kayak and canoe flotillas several occupants of which seemed to think we fly-fishers might be having as much, or maybe more, fun.

We are now less than two weeks from Minnesota's primary election and less than 100 days from the national midterm elections. Be sure to vote, preferably blue in the primary, definitely so in the general. We've had more than enough of the inmates running the asylum.

Three Songs at the End of Summer

Jane Kenyon
1947 – 1995

A second crop of hay lies cut   
and turned. Five gleaming crows   
search and peck between the rows.
They make a low, companionable squawk,   
and like midwives and undertakers   
possess a weird authority.

Crickets leap from the stubble,   
parting before me like the Red Sea.   
The garden sprawls and spoils.

Across the lake the campers have learned   
to water-ski. They have, or they haven’t.   
Sounds of the instructor’s megaphone   
suffuse the hazy air. “Relax! Relax!”

Cloud shadows rush over drying hay,   
fences, dusty lane, and railroad ravine.   
The first yellowing fronds of goldenrod   
brighten the margins of the woods.

Schoolbooks, carpools, pleated skirts;   
water, silver-still, and a vee of geese.

*

The cicada’s dry monotony breaks   
over me. The days are bright   
and free, bright and free.

Then why did I cry today   
for an hour, with my whole   
body, the way babies cry?

*

A white, indifferent morning sky,   
and a crow, hectoring from its nest   
high in the hemlock, a nest as big   
as a laundry basket....
                                    In my childhood   
I stood under a dripping oak,
while autumnal fog eddied around my feet,   
waiting for the school bus
with a dread that took my breath away.

The damp dirt road gave off   
this same complex organic scent.

I had the new books—words, numbers,   
and operations with numbers I did not   
comprehend—and crayons, unspoiled   
by use, in a blue canvas satchel
with red leather straps.

Spruce, inadequate, and alien   
I stood at the side of the road.   
It was the only life I had.

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