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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Summer, time

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.)

a field of round bales of hay

Photo by J. Harrington

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

Paul Laurence Dunbar
1872 – 1906

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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Where are the dragonflies?

For reasons I don’t understand, the photos I took of dragonflies are clustered around May and June and again in late July, August and September. Local dragonflies appear to go on vacation during July, along with many other Minnesotans. Several years ago I made a bar chart of the flight weeks of dragonflies based on information from Dragonflies of the North Woods [First Edition]. Although there are some noticeable gaps, there isn’t an overwhelming break in July, but we rarely see dragonflies for much of mid-month. It’s unfortunate, since there are so many deer flies they could feed on during July.

four-spotted skimmer dragonfly, late May

Photo by J. Harrington

Perhaps this is the time dragonflies are clustered around the marshes and water bodies in mating season? It is the time when many bird songs disappear since mating territories are no longer being defended, or so I’ve read. I can vouch for the fact that mornings are quieter now than they were in May and June.

A related matter that also troubles me is if I learned what’s going on with the disappearance of dragonflles, would I remember what I’d learned. The old saying of “use it or lose it” seems particularly relevant to my memory and learning things. If I don’t have a frequent use for a piece of information, it seems to drift toward the bottom of my memory banks, making access more difficult.

Fly, Dragonfly!

By Joyce Sidman

Water nymph, you have

climbed from the shallows to don

your dragon-colors.

Perched on a reed stem

all night, shedding your skin, you dry

your wings in moonlight.

 

Night melts into day.

Swift birds wait to snap you up.

Fly, dragonfly! Fly!

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A roar, a...?

The first dragonfly of the year appeared in front of the Jeep’s windshield and flew over the roof yesterday. Since we’re half-way plus through spring, summer is beginning to shoulder in. Mother’s Day forecast is for a high of 83℉. I doubt the Better Half will approve of that since I’m the one that prefers warmth leaning toward heat.

We missed the aurora last night but have been enjoying photos and reports on social media. Some of the reports noted significant traffic jams in our general area as others tried to find better lines of sight. It’s hard to see much beyond the tree tops where we live and a visual check early this morning revealed a glow in the northern sky much like the urban light pollution to our south.

first a fiddlehead, then a fern

Photo by J. Harrington

Somehow this year, when I wasn’t watching, the ferns across the yard in front of the house, along the edge of the woods, snuck past the fiddlehead stage and are now mature ferns. It probably occurred while I was looking up at the trees for bud burst and leaf out. If I had decided to mow the front yard already, no doubt I would have seen the fiddleheads. I’m still reading and pondering the pros and cons of no mow May. It occurs to me that, with all the trees around, and all the leaf fall in the woods, it’s hard to rationalize leaving leaf cover for critters like caterpillars who have an abundance of options on where and how to overwinter around here. Plus, we’ve accumulated too many brush piles during the past few years and haven’t managed to torch enough of them. I’m losing the yard along with my personal filing system and the stacks of books that have leapt beyond my meager efforts to manage them. I think I need a fairy godmother with a magic wand.

Letter to the Northern Lights 

Aimee Nezhukumatathil

The light here on earth keeps us plenty busy: a fire
in central Pennsylvania still burns bright since 1962.

Whole squads of tiny squid blaze up the coast of Japan
before sunrise. Of course you didn’t show when we went

searching for you, but we found other lights: firefly,
strawberry moon, a tiny catch of it in each other’s teeth.

Someone who saw you said they laid down
in the middle of the road and took you all in,

and I’m guessing you’re used to that—people falling
over themselves to catch a glimpse of you

and your weird mint-glow shushing itself over the lake.
Aurora, I’d rather stay indoors with him—even if it meant

a rickety hotel and its wood paneling, golf carpeting
in the bathrooms, and grainy soapcakes. Instead

of waiting until just the right hour of the shortest
blue-night of the year when you finally felt moved

enough to collide your gas particles with sun particles—
I’d rather share sunrise with him and loon call

over the lake with him, the slap of shoreline threaded
through screen windows with him. My heart

slams in my chest, against my shirt—it’s a kind
of kindling you’d never be able to light on your own. 

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Less is more, more or less

It looks like I’ll be hand watering the new plants on our sandy hill for awhile still. We may get a few showers tonight or tomorrow but then, again, nothing for a week or so and temperatures will be in the summer range. Some of the plants are beginning to show flower buds so the watering effort has its rewards. Plus I’m outside where I can see dragonflies and butterflies like the one below.

White Admiral (Limenitis arthemis arthemis)
AKA Red-spotted Admiral

Photo by J. Harrington

The other day a male bluebird was perched on top of the front yard bluebird house. So far, that one hasn’t been attacked by a neighborhood bear, but I felt guilty at not taking down the house out front as a precautionary measure. Then I remembered that nature tends toward profligacy rather than caution in perpetuating many species. At least that’s the impression I get from my readings and observations. In any event, this morning a kingbird was perched on the front house. I need to see if anyone is actually nesting in that spot. I should also check to see who, if anyone, is nesting on top of the garage yard lights this summer. I think the kingbirds were there last year.

I’m back from a quick check. It looks like a pair of kingbirds are nesting on the garage lights. There’s a nest, but no eggs, in the front bluebird house. I’ll need to drag out a ladder to see if there are eggs in the nest over the lights and that’s an effort for another day. As long as they don’t block the movement receptor or short out the fixture, I’m only too happy to share some space.

This has been a strange summer so far, between bears destroying bluebird houses, Canada’s excessive wildfires and smoke, our local return to moderate drought conditions and unusual political events, I’m becoming more and more concerned about what the future holds, although I’m also aware that we, that’s you and I and the next one over, do a lot to create our own futures. Is it time to claim “we’re better than this!” and then walk that talk?

The Exposed Nest

Robert Frost     1874 – 1963

You were forever finding some new play. 
So when I saw you down on hands and knees 
In the meadow, busy with the new-cut hay, 
Trying, I thought, to set it up on end, 
I went to show you how to make it stay, 
If that was your idea, against the breeze, 
And, if you asked me, even help pretend 
To make it root again and grow afresh. 
But 'twas no make-believe with you to-day, 
Nor was the grass itself your real concern, 
Though I found your hand full of wilted fern, 
Steel-bright June-grass, and blackening heads of clover. 
'Twas a nest full of young birds on the ground 
The cutter-bar had just gone champing over 
(Miraculously without tasting flesh) 
And left defenseless to the heat and light. 
You wanted to restore them to their right 
Of something interposed between their sight 
And too much world at once—could means be found. 
The way the nest-full every time we stirred 
Stood up to us as to a mother-bird 
Whose coming home has been too long deferred, 
Made me ask would the mother-bird return 
And care for them in such a change of scene 
And might our meddling make her more afraid. 
That was a thing we could not wait to learn. 
We saw the risk we took in doing good, 
But dared not spare to do the best we could 
Though harm should come of it; so built the screen 
You had begun, and gave them back their shade. 
All this to prove we cared. Why is there then 
No more to tell? We turned to other things. 
I haven't any memory—have you?—
Of ever coming to the place again 
To see if the birds lived the first night through, 
And so at last to learn to use their wings. 

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Enjoying the weekend

Hordes of dragonflies have finally hatched. We look forward to their decimation of the swarms of mosquitos that have been harassing us for more than a week now. It seems to me that Minnesota has only two seasons: not winter and road construction, but frostbite and bugbite. I believe you read that here first.

four-spotted skimmer

Photo by J. Harrington

We’re in the midst of a beautiful holiday weekend with warm temperatures, sunny skies and enough of a breeze to minimize the clouds of flying insects that would otherwise be an annoyance. In fact, when we picked up this weeks Community Supported Agriculture share this morning, it didn’t take long for the Jeep to fill with skeeters as the Better Half [BH] worked with the rear hatch up dividing the veggies between those for us and those for the Daughter Person [DP] and her family. (There’s no way I’d try to eat half a share each week, with the BH eating the other half, so we split with the DP. I barely survive eating a quarter share of veggies each week. I’m a huMAN, not a rabbit nor a goat.) Here’s what was in this week’s box:

• Magenta lettuce
• Tokyo bekanna Greens
• Spinach
• Mixed greens

On the drive through the country to pick up the greens, mixed and unmixed, we saw several whitetail deer and a tom turkey with his harem of hens. I’m not sure why the hens weren’t nesting. In the same general area yesterday, we saw either a large coyote or a small wolf. We’re at the southern fringe of wolf range in Minnesota, and coyotes are almost common. I’m just not familiar enough with sightings to be sure of the identity of a single animal. I have a similar problem with crows and ravens.

A few yard chores got tackled today before the temp climbed too much. We’ll probably do a few more tomorrow but, even for us old, retired folks, it is a holiday weekend so we’ll do our best to relax and enjoy as much of it as we can.

Fly, Dragonfly!

By Joyce Sidman

Water nymph, you have

climbed from the shallows to don

your dragon-colors.

Perched on a reed stem

all night, shedding your skin, you dry

your wings in moonlight.

 

Night melts into day.

Swift birds wait to snap you up.

Fly, dragonfly! Fly!

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Where are the dragonflies?

We’ve already had a mosquito hatch that has filled the air with the little biters. So far, there are not enough predators to reduce the population. Dragonflies won’t appear in numbers until later this month and early June. Is the mosquito hatch early this year? Has evolution buffered dragonfly hatches so that there will usually be plenty of food (mosquitos, etc.) by the time dragons fly? If corporations were involved, would they try to lean out the supply chain of mosquitos, even if it meant the death by starvation of a number of customers?

common green darner

Photo by J. Harrington

Frogs have been making evening and nighttime noises for weeks now. I think frogs eat mostly insects. I wonder what the frogs have been feeding on until the mosquitos started to hatch. Is a frog quick enough to catch and eat a mosquito, or do they mostly feed on the larvae? There’s so much I don’t know!

The transition from winter to summer continues. The snow blower is now stored behind the lawn mower. The battery for the electric start on the mower is recharging. Fresh gas will be added one day soon, after we’ve finished picking up the dead branches from the parts of the lawn that get cut with the push mower instead of the tractor. I’ve decided I'm actually beginning to prefer the look of our creeping Charlie and violets lawn, rather than grass. I’m also getting better at not beating myself up for not getting everything done in one day and then spending the next three hobbling around. I may never age gracefully, but I can try to age more peacefully. To that end, I think it’s time to go look for some common green darners.

Fly, Dragonfly!

By Joyce Sidman

Water nymph, you have

climbed from the shallows to don

your dragon-colors.

Perched on a reed stem

all night, shedding your skin, you dry

your wings in moonlight.

 

Night melts into day.

Swift birds wait to snap you up.

Fly, dragonfly! Fly!

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The last week of “summer"

Next weekend is Labor Day, the official start of meteorological autumn and the unofficial end of summer vacation season. Our bur oak has already started dropping leaves. More trees are showing hints of autumn colors but hummingbirds are still coming to the sugar water feeders. We haven’t seen any dragonflies for weeks now. I hope it’s because we haven’t been paying enough attention in the right places but suspect the drought and the variable rain patterns may be contributors.

Ruby Meadowhawk

Photo by J. Harrington

Last night’s thunderstorms brought more rain but there’s still no water visible in the “wet spot” behind the house, although the Sunrise River pools in the Carlos Avery Wildlife Management Area are really full. It’s an open question whether this fall’s migration will be more trickle down over the whole season or the waterfowl will have food and open water late enough that we’ll see a “grand passage” this year.

More and more folks who participate in fishing and hunting support strategies that help minimize and adapt to climate change and its effects. These are pretty much the same kind of people who insisted congress enact a tax on the equipment they use to help fund conservation efforts. Unlike those who are now complaining about “forgiveness” of some student loan debt, anglers and hunters have long recognized the truth of the late Senator Paul Wellstone’s observation that “We all do better when we all do better.” It seems that too many of us have lost track of the idea that a thriving community, or a country, is more than the aggregation of what’s best for each individual, especially if we also count corporations as people.

Joni Mitchell has written, and recorded, a wonderful song about the time of year we’re entering. It’s also been covered by some other talented singers such as Tom Rush. Not to rush a change of seasons, but to prepare for it, follow the link and enjoy him singing The Urge for Going. Then, please return and read:

Song for Autumn

by Mary Oliver

Don’t you imagine the leaves dream now
how comfortable it will be to touch
the earth instead of the
nothingness of the air and the endless
freshets of wind? And don’t you think
the trees, especially those with
mossy hollows, are beginning to look for

the fires that will come—six, a dozen—to sleep
inside their bodies? And don’t you hear
the goldenrod whispering goodbye,
the everlasting being crowned with the first
tuffets of snow? The pond
stiffens and the white field over which
the fox runs so quickly brings out
its long blue shadows. The wind wags
its many tails. And in the evening
the piled firewood shifts a little,
longing to be on its way.

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Dragon(flies) to the rescue! #phenology

A week or ten days ago we had an explosion in the local mosquito population. One day there were none to speak of, the next day we were getting swarmed. There aren’t enough mosquito-eating birds around to put a reasonable dent in the population. There had been very few bat sightings, although the bat nesting box is still mounted on an oak tree. The dragonfly population finally caught up with the mosquito abundance yesterday or today. Now there are lots of dragonflies and soon, we hope, many fewer mosquitos. If the sequence had been reversed. there would have been a lot of very hungry dragonflies.

Chalk-fronted Corporal (on left) Common Whitetail [female] (on right)

Photo by J. Harrington

Our debt to dragonflies, a more natural control on mosquitos than spraying, has me thinking about rereading Ursula K. Le Guin’s Earthsea series. The dragons in those stories are my penultimate favorites, right after Puff, the Magic Dragon, as sung by Peter, Paul and Mary. When Daughter Person was much younger, we used to sing it together. Do you have a favorite dragon?

We increased the likelihood that much of June will be cooler than usual. Today we had a technician check our air conditioning system. It basically passed with flying colors. If we hadn’t had the inspection scheduled, or the equipment required expensive repairs using parts that would take weeks to get here, it’s likely this month would be much warmer than normal. You don’t have to thank us now.

Fly, Dragonfly!

By Joyce Sidman

Water nymph, you have

climbed from the shallows to don

your dragon-colors.

Perched on a reed stem

all night, shedding your skin, you dry

your wings in moonlight.

 

Night melts into day.

Swift birds wait to snap you up.

Fly, dragonfly! Fly!

 

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Summer's golden days #phenology

When the dog and I took our early morning walk, the temperature was delightfully near 60℉. Sunlight had just begun to clear the horizon, birds were singing and biting bugs were scarce. The day held promise for turning into one of those golden days of summer about which I often fantasize.

hoary alyssum

Photo by J. Harrington

Mid-afternoon we're still enjoying a respite from the string of 90+ days. Roadside fields are full of yellow goatsbeard blooms gone to seed, looking like giant dandelions. More gold is captured in the hoary puccoon and birdsfoot trefoil blossoms visible up and down the ditches, nodding in today's breeze. Fields and road ditches are streaked with accents of purple vetch and speckled with white hoary alyssum blossoms.

female common whitetail dragonfly?

Photo by J. Harrington

Something like half-a-dozen or more species of dragonflies flittered from plant to plant or swooped to check out us, or the bugs we were attracting. It was truly a joy to be out walking and watching the world around us. Would it have been as pleasant had we not just gone through seven days of unseasonably hot temperatures and accompanying humidity, but no rain? May we enjoy many more summer days like today, interspersed with some showers and an occasional thunderstorm.

Summer of the Ladybirds

By Vivian Smith

Can we learn wisdom watching insects now,

or just the art of quiet observation?

Creatures from the world of leaf and flower

marking weather’s variation.

 

The huge dry summer of the ladybirds

(we thought we’d never feel such heat again)

started with white cabbage butterflies

sipping at thin trickles in the drain.

 

Then one by one the ladybirds appeared

obeying some far purpose or design.

We marvelled at their numbers in the garden,

grouped together, shuffling in a line.

 

Each day a few strays turned up at the table,

the children laughed to see them near the jam

exploring round the edges of a spoon.

One tried to drink the moisture on my arm.

 

How random and how frail seemed their lives,

and yet how they persisted, refugees,

saving energy by keeping still

and hiding in the grass and in the trees.

 

And then one day they vanished overnight.

Clouds gathered, storm exploded, weather cleared.

And all the wishes that we might have had

in such abundance simply disappeared.

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A prelude to summer

four-spotted skimmer

Photo by J. Harrington

Today brought my first sighting of the year of squadrons of dragonflies patrolling the air space over the "wet spot" in the back yard. If only they also preyed on ticks, of which there's an overabundance this year. Most of the dragonflies look like they're four-spotted skimmers, at least the few I saw perched yesterday while doing yard chores did.

A whitetail deer briefly wandered into the open field behind the house at midday, presumably to let today's 15 mph "moderate breeze" blow away the flies and mosquitoes that have arrived recently. The deer didn't have a fawn with her, but at this time iof year s/he wouldn't have visible antlers either so we won't speak to gender.

Since the current temperature is 87℉, we're hard pressed to believe the high on Thursday will only be in the upper forties, but that's North Country weather these days, a never-ending roller coaster ride. If there's a "moderate breeze" blowing onThursday, we may be back in wind chill season, despite the imminence of Memorial Day. May we all enjoy a summer of gentle breezes, cumulous clouds broken by lots of sunshine, and moderate temperatures.

Don't forget to check the supermoon tomorrow!

Fly, Dragonfly!

By Joyce Sidman

Water nymph, you have

climbed from the shallows to don

your dragon-colors.

Perched on a reed stem

all night, shedding your skin, you dry

your wings in moonlight.

 

Night melts into day.

Swift birds wait to snap you up.

Fly, dragonfly! Fly!

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Coming attractions in May #phenology

In a couple of weeks, we'll enter prime dragonfly season. For now, the common green darner is the only species shown in flight, and we've seen none yet. Our pear tree has many flower buds almost ready to open. Probably later this week if we get some sunshine and warmth. Yesterday's high was in the mid 80's. Today we're at 60 with cloudy skies. More of the same is forecast for tomorrow. We are way overdue for a week of sunny days with temperatures in the mid 70's, but we're not going to hold our breath. This is Minnesota, after all, where the possibility of a Mother's Day blizzard, though rare, exists.

pear tree in bloom

Photo by J. Harrington

Meanwhile, we've hearing reports that migrating birds are moving northward. If not this week, then next we hope to see Baltimore orioles and ruby-throated hummingbirds arrive. With luck we may also get to see a few scarlet tanagers around mid to late May. Since the annoying gray squirrels have knocked down the grape jelly feeder, we'll mix up some more sugar water nectar and hang that feeder later this week. So far squirrels haven't shown any interest in the nectar feeders.

Trillium grandiflorum (Large-flowered Trillium)

Photo by J. Harrington

Late this month we expect an eruption of woodland wildflowers to bloom before the canopy fills out and blocks sunlight from the ground. So the overall arrival pattern is dragonflies; bird migrants; woodland wildflowers such as trillium.

Today we didn't get done all the outside chores we set out to do yesterday, but we did accomplish some of them. We're noticing that  we've reached an age in which we need to stretch out the transition from a primarily sedentary winter to a more active later spring early summer pattern. We're also observing that the weather forecast is frequently more pessimistic than the actual weather, which mades it challenging to schedule activities outside.

Spring

In the north country now it is spring and there 
Is a certain celebration. The thrush 
Has come home. He is shy and likes the 
Evening best, also the hour just before 
Morning; in that blue and gritty light he 
Climbs to his branch, or smoothly 
Sails there. It is okay to know only 
One song if it is this one. Hear it 
Rise and fall; the very elements of you should 
Shiver nicely. What would spring be 
Without it? Mostly frogs. But don’t worry, he

Arrives, year after year, humble and obedient 
And gorgeous. You listen and you know 
You could live a better life than you do, be 
Softer, kinder. And maybe this year you will 
Be able to do it. Hear how his voice 
Rises and falls. There is no way to be 
Sufficiently grateful for the gifts we are 
Given, no way to speak the Lord’s name 
Often enough, though we do try, and

Especially now, as that dappled breast 
Breathes in the pines and heaven’s 
Windows in the north country, 
Now spring has come, 
Are opened wide.

Mary Oliver

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Welcome (to) September!

This morning, as I refilled both nectar feeders, I wondered if today will be the last time they'll be filled this year. Based on last year's data, our ruby-throated hummingbirds are likely to have flown South (at least of us) my mid-month to month's end. We will be watching to see if we get visits from those who may have nested North of us. Last year, all sightings had ended by the third week of this month.

ruby meadowhawk dragonfly

Photo by J. Harrington

As SiSi and I returned from our mid-day walk, she stopped to sniff something. As she was sorting out whatever aromas currently had her fascinated or baffled, I  happened to notice a ruby meadowhawk dragonfly land on a low-growing roadside plant. There are fewer and fewer dragonflies to be seen around the neighborhood these days and I hadn't seen any red meadowhawks this year until today, although they're listed as being "on the wing" starting at the end of June.

The dog and I began our walk with a swing by the live trap that was set behind the recycling can. Today it held a chipmunk that looked extremely annoyed. I wondered if it was the same striped critter I saw on the deck yesterday. After the walk, and the meadowhawk sighting, I left SiSi in the kitchen with the Better Half, loaded the trap with its annoyed (temporary) occupant into the back of the Jeep, and transported it to a nearby release site.

sky-blue aster (Symphyotrichum oolentangiense)

Photo by J. Harrington

We're seeing more patches of leaves that are changing colors, but still no signs of the local asters blooming. Today's temperatures are running a little cooler than forecast, probably due to the unforecast cloud cover. The cooler temperatures affected the amount of time it took for my sourdough to rise. They also affected the amount of the rise. We won't know until it's baked if the crumb quality has been affected.

And Now It’s September,

By Barbara Crooker

and the garden diminishes: cucumber leaves rumpled

and rusty, zucchini felled by borers, tomatoes sparse

on the vines. But out in the perennial beds, there’s one last

blast of color: ignitions of goldenrod, flamboyant 

asters, spiraling mums, all those flashy spikes waving

in the wind, conducting summer’s final notes.

The ornamental grasses have gone to seed, haloed

in the last light. Nights grow chilly, but the days

are still warm; I wear the sun like a shawl on my neck

and arms. Hundreds of blackbirds ribbon in, settle

in the trees, so many black leaves, then, just as suddenly,

they’re gone. This is autumn’s great Departure Gate,

and everyone, boarding passes in hand, waits

patiently in a long, long line.

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It's driving me buggy!

I'm at a loss to explain where my fascination with dragonflies originated. It's just there and has been for some time. The local squadrons of dragonflies have diminished over the past couple of weeks. At least, I haven't been seeing as many as I did last month. That's unfortunate, because we've had yet another hatch of deer flies. Enough so that I'm putting off doing some outdoor chores until my new bug-proof hoody arrives.

dragonfly on patio screen

Photo by J. Harrington

I've tried wearing one of my "fishing" shirts that was factory treated with permethrin, but the material doesn't breathe and in the weather we've been having I kept getting overheated even if I was doing little more than driving the tractor. Supposedly, the hoody "hooded-jacket" is breathable and will help wick away moisture (sweat). I've ordered on, hoping for the best, and will report back after the first few wearings. If, as some of these things sometimes go, the arrival of a breathable, bug-proof hoody promptly assures the arrival of cooler, less humid weather with fewer bugs in evidence, it will have been money well spent.

Of course, I'd much prefer to have sufficient numbers of dragonflies to severely diminish our mosquito and deer fly populations, but I got the next best thing from the Better Half for a Father's Day or Birthday present. Cindy Crosby, whose blog, Tuesdays in the Tallgrass, is linked in the "Other Paths" sidebar here, has written a book: Chasing Dragonflies: A Natural, Cultural, and Personal History. That was one of the presents that I received for a recent occasion and I've just started to read and enjoy it (available through Northwestern University Press). I'm hoping that, after I've finished reading Crosby's book, I'll be more able to identify the dragonfly pictured above along with several others.

After the Dragonflies

By W. S. Merwin

Dragonflies were as common as sunlight
hovering in their own days
backward forward and sideways
as though they were memory
now there are grown-ups hurrying
who never saw one
and do not know what they
are not seeing
the veins in a dragonfly’s wings
were made of light
the veins in the leaves knew them
and the flowing rivers
the dragonflies came out of the color of water
knowing their own way
when we appeared in their eyes
we were strangers
they took their light with them when they went
there will be no one to remember us

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As solstice nears

More and more of the yellow goat's beard (Tragopogon dubius) has turned petals to seedheads. Meanwhile, our local milkweed is still several weeks from blossoming. Trillium is past it's prime and the flowers are largely gone. Still no sightings of whitetail fawns.

yellow goat's beard seed head

Photo by J. Harrington

Our day lily plants have developed flower buds so they should start flowering sometime soon, later this year than we've come to expect. Lots of dragonflies continue to patrol the neighborhood, although so do lots of mosquitos. More dragonflies, bluebirds, and tree swallows would be wonderful. I much prefer the song of a bird to the hummmm! of an insect, although I realize the latter helps provide for the former.

perched dragonfly

Photo by J. Harrington

Many years ago there was a comic strip called "Miss Peach," about a kindergarten teacher, her students and school. If I recall correctly, one of the students, Arthur Strimm, had a "law of efficiency." He never did anything until someone told him at least twice. Since lots of folks forgot after they told him the first time, he saved his energy by waiting for the repeated request of command. I've found myself in a similar position recently. Things I put off doing, as I think about doing  them a second time, I realize what I wanted to do in the first place is kind of dumb. Here's an example:

I've been meaning to mark my fly lines at 10, 20 and 30 yards. That way I'd more easily estimate how much line I was casting compared to how far away a trout was rising. Well, the likelihood I'd ever manage a 30 yard (90 foot) cast in this lifetime is slim to none. Even a 20 yard (60 foot) cast is pushing it for me. I'll be better, and more realistically, served by marking my lines at 5, 10 and 15 yards. That's what I'll start with during this afternoon's storms. Arthur, and most like him, are brighter than they seem at first glance. It's the folks like me, who suffer grandiose OCD symptoms much of the time, that need a keeper.

Fly, Dragonfly!

By Joyce Sidman

Water nymph, you have

climbed from the shallows to don

your dragon-colors.

Perched on a reed stem

all night, shedding your skin, you dry

your wings in moonlight.

Night melts into day.

Swift birds wait to snap you up.

Fly, dragonfly! Fly!

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Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.
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Here comes Summer! #phenology

With less than a week to go until Summer solstice, it's time to take a look at what once was thought to be "normal" for that season. Back in January, the National Weather Service Twin Cities Office shared the following chart (ignore the "You Are Here" message from January). Starting Saturday, we will be entering a Summer season of 93 days, 15 hours and some odd minutes. During that period, our normal daily high temperature should be 70℉ or above. In fact, the actual daily high is likely to be much more variable than the average daily high. Tuesday and Wednesday are forecast to be 90℉ or more. Either or both of those days are up for consideration of standing  in a cool trout stream for several hours if the wind ever stops blowing.

Summer sunflowers in bloom

Photo by J. Harrington

Greta Kaul at MinnPost has created some delightful seasonal guides for Minnesota. Her signs of Summer include:

• wild prairie rose blooms
• showy lady's slipper blooms
• Canadian service berry fruit
• harebell blooms
• brown-eyed Susan blooms
• orange day lily blooms
• sunflower blooms
• bee balm blooms
• prairie blazing star blooms
• rattlesnake master blooms
• Virginia strawberry fruit
• New England aster blooms

The Summer months are prime time for seeing most of our dragonflies of the North Woods. June is also the month when our local black bears begin to check yards and trash barrels for snacks. Our compost tumbler was tipped over last night or the night before. We didn't see the culprit, but I doubt anyone but a bear is likely to and capable of tipping over the mostly full compost tumbler. We learned the hard way to bring in bird feeders during Spring, Summer and Fall but, a couple of years ago lost our patio screening to a bruin that wanted to be sure there was nothing to eat on the deck. Country living has its annoyances, but, so far, the rewards greatly outweigh them.

Summer in a Small Town

By Tony Hoagland

Yes, the young mothers are beautiful,

with all the self-acceptance of exhaustion,

still dazed from their great outpouring,

pushing their strollers along the public river walk.

And the day is also beautiful—the replica 19th-century paddle-wheeler

perpetually moored at the city wharf

                with its glassed-in bar and grill

for the lunch-and-cocktail-seekers

who come for the Mark Twain Happy Hour

which lasts as long as the Mississippi.

This is the kind of town where the rush hour traffic halts

                to let three wild turkeys cross the road,

and when the high school music teacher retires

after thirty years

the movie marquee says, “Thanks Mr. Biddleman!”

and the whole town comes to hear

                the tuba solos of old students.

Summer, when the living is easy

and we store up pleasure in our bodies

like fat, like Eskimos,

for the coming season of privation.

All August the Ferris wheel will turn

                           in the little amusement park,

and screaming teenage girls will jump into the river

with their clothes on,

right next to the No Swimming sign.

Trying to cool the heat inside the small towns

                                               of their bodies,

for which they have no words;

obedient to the voice inside which tells them,

“Now. Steal Pleasure.”

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'Tis time dragons fly! #phenology

I'm guessing it will be a couple of weeks (midish-June) before we see flowers, but the beardtongue (Penstemon grandiflorus) is growing nicely. Not to get too technical, but we got a bunch of rain overnight. The mosquitos are as thick as flies so the hatch of dragonflies now hovering over our  fields is more than welcome. As they move quicker than we can see, we're again guessing that many of the recent arrivals are four-spotted skimmers.

look for beardtongue (Penstemon grandiflorus) in bloom late next month

Photo by J. Harrington

We took the emergence times from our dragonfly field guide and plotted them on a chart. (There's a Phenology Flight Chart in an appendix but we haven't yet organized ours that way. Maybe that's a project for a rainy Summer day.) It's been our experience that knowing who might be flying around helps narrow down the options to check for the names of the dragons we see flying around.

The guidebook is organized by Family rather than chronologically.  Dragonflies of the North Woods includes these families:

• Darners (Family Aeshnidae) 
• Clubtails (Family Gomphidae)
• Spiketails (Family Cordulegasteridae)
• Cruisers (Family Macromiidae)
• Emeralds (Family Corduliidae)
• Skimmers (Family Libellulidae)

ruby meadowhawk, Family Libellulidae

Photo by J. Harrington

It's been six months or so since we've given any serious thought to dragonflies. Now it's time to refresh our memory by reviewing  the field guide again. This type of knowledge, like so many other types, falls into our category of use it or lose it and, much as we're fascinated by and enjoy dragonflies, we have too many interests for our own good. There are few dragon flies to observe in Minnesota for about half the year. We're really happy they're back in numbers.

Fly, Dragonfly!

By Joyce Sidman

Water nymph, you have

climbed from the shallows to don

your dragon-colors.

Perched on a reed stem

all night, shedding your skin, you dry

your wings in moonlight.

Night melts into day.

Swift birds wait to snap you up.

Fly, dragonfly! Fly!

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

Signs of Summer #phenology

The feral lilac bushes up the road have just barely started to display flower buds. There are several patches of prairie smoke close to the  lilacs. Their buds have developed but are unopened. Roadside poison ivy is emerging looking unfortunately healthy and robust. The weekend promises to be damp but, perhaps, not a washout.

prairie smoke with closed flower buds

Photo by J. Harrington

I'm unsure of the species, but the fields I walked through to check on the lilacs were full of dragonflies, the first ones I've seen this season. It's possible they were four-spotted skimmers. The arrival of dragonflies is one of my signs of Summer. They seem to have arrived within days of the arrival of the seasons first mosquitoes and, for all I know, the two species emerged concurrently. I think that's how it's supposed to work with predators and prey. Speaking of predators and prey, maybe we'll get lucky this weekend and actually trap one of the  returned pocket gophers. We noticed fresh mounds in the back yard this morning.

the dragonflies in the field looked like this four-spotted skimmer

Photo by J. Harrington

Coolish, damp weather presents challenges in terms of what to wear digging into gopher tunnels and what to eat to restore some strength after eating. (I know, first world problems.) It feels too cool for salads and too warm for comfort food like mac and cheese. We'll just do the best we can to enjoy as much as we can of this COVID-19 affected Memorial Day weekend. We hope you do the same.

Fly, Dragonfly!

By Joyce Sidman

Water nymph, you have

climbed from the shallows to don

your dragon-colors.

Perched on a reed stem

all night, shedding your skin, you dry

your wings in moonlight. 

Night melts into day.

Swift birds wait to snap you up.

Fly, dragonfly! Fly!

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

Are you ready for Monday's Equinox? #phenology

Hummingbirds appear to have moved on for the Winter. I've seen none at either feeder (front or back of house) for several days now. There are still quite a few dragonflies in the area, making the most of what's left of Summer. Watching a (rare) late afternoon sun glint off their wings reinforces our newly restored belief in fairies. In a little more than a month, the season of ghosts and goblins will be upon us, although some fairy-dragonflies, such as meadowhawks, may stick with us until Halloween.

September: ruby meadowhawk

Photo by J. Harrington

In our neighborhood, the Autumn Equinox will occur on Monday, September 23, 2019 at 2:50 am CDT. I may, or may not, be awake to welcome Astronomical Autumn's first moments. Since the Equinox is based on when the sun crosses the Equator, I have reservations about the significance of using local time to specify when it occurs, but then, no one asked my opinion. I suspect if I spend some time contemplating what I remember about times for high tides, and recollect that high tide where I lived wasn't at the same time as high tide where I was headed to fish, I may get more comfortable with the local time for distant event combination.

before acorns cover the ground...

Photo by J. Harrington

More of the leaves have changed colors, but I'd estimate it's still less than 25% color. That's also what the Fall Color Finder tells us. We haven't noticed any color change in the local tamaracks. The maples are changing slowly. Sumac are mostly reds, bright or dark, while birches and poplars are turning yellow. Don't forget to look for golden pine needles, since even conifers shed some of their needle leafs each year. Looking at some of our pictures from prior years, color does seem to be slower developing this year, by maybe a week or so. Or is it that those other years developed colors early? Acorns, on the other hand... walking on the drive feels as if it's covered in marbles or ball bearings. Despite the abundance of acorns, the squirrels seem to prefer the sunflower seed feeder. Conditioning? We hope we all get to enjoy a colorful, fun-filled and satisfyingly scary Autumn.

Natural History

Sam Hamill

Late afternoon, autumn equinox,
and my daughter and I
are at the table silently
eating fried eggs and muffins,
sharp cheese, and yesterday’s
rice warmed over. We put
our paper plates in the woodstove
and go outside:
                                 sunlight
fills the alders with
the geometries of long
blonde hair, and twin ravens
ride the rollercoasters
of warm September air
out, toward Protection Island.

Together, we enter the roughed-in
room beside our cabin
and begin our toil together:
she, cutting and stapling
insulation; I, cutting
and nailing the tight rows
of cedar. We work in a silence
broken only by occasional banter.
I wipe the cobwebs
from nooks and sills, working
on my knees as though this prayer
of labor could save me, as though
the itch of fiberglass
and sawdust were an answer
to some old incessant question
I never dare to remember.

And when the evening comes on
at last, cooling our arms
and faces, we stop
and stand back to assess
our work together.
                                 And I
remember the face
of my father climbing down
from a long wooden ladder
thirty years before. He
was a tall strong sapling
smelling of tar and leather,
his pate bald and burned
to umber by a sun
that blistered the Utah desert.
He strode the rows of coops
with a red cocker spaniel
and tousled boy-child
at his heel.
                         I turn to look
at my daughter: her mop
of blonde curls catches
the last trembling light
of the day, her lean body
sways with weariness. I try,
but cannot remember
the wisdom of fourteen years,
the pleasures of that
discovery. Eron smiles.

At the stove, we wash up
as the sun dies in a candle-flame.
A light breeze tears
the first leaves of autumn
from boughs that slowly darken.
A squirrel, enraged,
castigates the dog
for some inscrutable intrusion,
and Eron climbs the ladder
to her loft.
                         Suddenly
I am utterly alone,
I am a child
gazing up at a father, a father
looking down at his daughter.
A strange shudder
comes over me like a chill.
Is this what there is
to remember – the long days
roofing coops, the building
of rooms on a cabin, the in
significant meal? The shadows
of moments mean everything
and nothing, the dying
landscapes of remembered
human faces freeze
into a moment.
                         My room
was in the basement, was
knotty pine, back there,
in diamondback country.
The night swings over
the cold Pacific. I pour
a cup of coffee, heavy
in my bones. Soon, this fine
young woman will stare into
the face of her own son
or daughter, the years
gone suddenly behind her.
Will she remember only
the ache, the immense satisfaction
of that longing?
                         May she
be happy, filled
with the essential,
working in the twilight,
on her knees, at autumn equinox,
gathering the stories
of silence together,
preparing to meet the winter.

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Please be kind to each other while you can.