A pleasant alternative to the RNC

Hot! Humid! Thundershowers! Last week of it for this season? Let's hope so. I am looking forward to comfortably wearing my chamois shirts again. Nevertheless, artisan sourdough bread will go into the oven tomorrow morning and, a little more than an hour later, will be placed on a cooling rack. Meanwhile...

wild cucumber on cattails

Photo by J. Harrington

The pleasant alternative we promised starts with the picture above. As we headed for the county household hazardous waste facility today we noticed that more sumac leaves are turning red. A few other trees are also beginning to show color. Roadsides are showing lots of bright yellow flowers such as goldenrod and smooth oxeye plants and several species of sunflowers. Wild cucumber is still climbing and Joe Pye weed is in bloom. I'm at the point of admitting that it's time to follow the old advice about "he who fights and runs away, lives to fight another day."

goldenrod and smooth oxeye(?)

Photo by J. Harrington

If you can, as you can, get outside. Go for a walk, or a bike ride. Bring a camera and maybe a field guide. Before we know it, we'll be shoveling walks and driveways. But first we get to enjoy wildflowers and apples and pumpkins and autumn leaf colors and ... oh, yeah, fresh cider and asters in bloom. Just don't forget to request your absentee ballot, complete it and return it, preferably without relying on the USPS. Enjoy nature, then nurture democracy by voting blue across the board. Both of these will undoubtedly be better for all of us than watching or reading about the madness and incompetence the RNC is promoting, because that's all they  have to offer.

Autumn

By Alice Cary

Shorter and shorter now the twilight clips 

   The days, as though the sunset gates they crowd, 

And Summer from her golden collar slips 

   And strays through stubble-fields, and moans aloud, 

Save when by fits the warmer air deceives, 

   And, stealing hopeful to some sheltered bower, 

She lies on pillows of the yellow leaves, 

   And tries the old tunes over for an hour. 

The wind, whose tender whisper in the May 

   Set all the young blooms listening through th’ grove, 

Sits rustling in the faded boughs to-day 

   And makes his cold and unsuccessful love. 

The rose has taken off her tire of red— 

   The mullein-stalk its yellow stars have lost, 

And the proud meadow-pink hangs down her head 

   Against earth’s chilly bosom, witched with frost. 

The robin, that was busy all the June, 

   Before the sun had kissed the topmost bough, 

Catching our hearts up in his golden tune, 

   Has given place to the brown cricket now. 

The very cock crows lonesomely at morn— 

   Each flag and fern the shrinking stream divides— 

Uneasy cattle low, and lambs forlorn 

   Creep to their strawy sheds with nettled sides. 

Shut up the door: who loves me must not look 

   Upon the withered world, but haste to bring 

His lighted candle, and his story-book, 

   And live with me the poetry of Spring.

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Buy two, too!

There's an old saying to the effect that "if you find something you really like, buy two before they stop making it." I've done that for a few things, some of which they're still making. For those that aren't being made anymore, I've managed to still have two, apparently due to karma. If I had only one I'd have lost, broken, worn out or otherwise ended up with none. What does this have to do with a day near mid-July?

For the past several weeks I've been wearing a light-weight, synthetic cloth bug-shirt. It came permeated with permethrin. Wearing it on occasion for fishing seemed to work well. This Summer I've been wearing it while doing outside chores. It helps with the  deer flies but it doesn't breathe. The ventilation panels in the sleeves and torso are inadequate for this Summer's humidity. Each time I wear this shirt for more than five minutes, I end up soaked in sweat. And the deer flies still attack my ears and  the back of my neck.

buckthorn with berries

Photo by J. Harrington

This morning that all happened again as I was dismembering a large buckthorn bush that had lots of berries on it. The bush pieces are now on the brush pile to be burned later. The bug shirt ended up in the wash and, when walking the dog at mid-day I dug out a different fishing shirt that's mostly cotton. It's off-white and felt much more comfortable than the synthetic cloth and the light color is less attractive to deer flies and the material is just heavy enough to keep them from biting through it. Unfortunately, the company that made it no longer offers it, so I can't buy two. Fortunately, I've found something similar, polyester in a mesh weave, with a hood to protect ears and neck, that should be delivered today. If it works well at deterring bugs and "wicking away moisture," I'll do my best to order another later this Summer. That may help "protect" my mostly cotton fishing shirt too. There's a real timing challenge to owning something long enough to be sure it works well for you and that you really like it so you can order another before they're gone.

Fork with Two Tines Pushed Together

Nick Lantz

It's fast and cool as running water, the way we forget
the names of friends with whom we talked and talked
the long drives up and down the coast.

I say I love and I love and I love. However, the window
will not close. However, the hawk searches
for its nest after a storm. However, the discarded
nail longs to hide its nakedness inside the tire.

Somewhere in Cleveland or Tempe, a pillow
still smells like M_____'s hair.
In a bus station, a child is staring
at L____'s rabbit tattoo. I've bartered everything
to keep from doing my soul's paperwork.

Here is a partial list of artifacts:
mirror, belt, half-finished 1040 form (married, filing jointly), mateless walkie-talkie, two blonde eyelashes, set of acrylic paints with all the red and yellow used up, buck knife, dog collar, camping tent (sleeps two), slivers of cut-up credit cards, ashtray in the shape of a naked woman, pen with teeth marks, bottom half of two-piece bathing suit, pill bottles containing unfinished courses of antibiotics, bank statements with the account number blacked out, maps of London, maps of Dubuque, sweatshirts with the mascots of colleges I didn't attend, flash cards for Spanish verbs (querer, perder, olvidar), Canadian pocket change, fork with two tines pushed together.

Forgetfulness means to be full
of forgetting, like a glass

overflowing with cool water, though I'd always
thought of it as the empty pocket

where the hand finds
nothing: no keys, no ticket, no change.

One night, riding the train home from the city,
will I see a familiar face across from me? How many times
will I ask Is it you? before I realize
it's my own reflection in the window?

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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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Please be kind to each other while you can.

The end of June begins July

Today is the last Sunday in June 2020. July begins in a few days. Look for the [Ojibwe] full moon [Miin-giizis (Berry Moon)] next weekend on Independence Day. By then, we will have lost 7 minutes of daylight since the Summer solstice on June 21, but it still will be awhile until Jack Frost returns, although the prospect of a hard frost that thins out the deer flies and mosquitos has some real appeal.

oriole at grape feeder

Photo by J. Harrington

This morning we enjoyed one of the occasional visits Baltimore orioles have recently been making to the grape feeder. Unfortunately, the grape jelly is also attracting increasing numbers of yellow jackets, so we're taking it down and putting it away until next Spring. The orioles will have to settle for sharing the nectar feeder with hummingbirds and woodpeckers.

early July milkweed blossoms

Photo by J. Harrington

Still no appearances of local whitetail fawns or wild turkey poults and very little of the milkweed is in bloom yet. There are noticeably fewer dragon flies. The back yard brush pile continues to regrow. The next Celtic / Druidic / Pagan festival is "Lughnasadh on August 1st, which marks the beginning of harvest time." It's funny how, when I was back in school, Summer seemed to last almost forever. These days it seems to be gone almost as soon as it arrives, except for those hot, humid spells that never seem to end.  Let's all see what we can do to have a safe, healthy, and happy Summer this year so we can celebrate with Blue fireworks on Independence day 2021.

Milkweed

Helen Hunt Jackson

O patient creature with a peasant face, 
Burnt by the summer sun, begrimed with stains, 
And standing humbly in the dingy lanes! 
There seems a mystery in thy work and place, 
Which crowns thee with significance and grace; 
Whose is the milk that fills thy faithful veins? 
What royal nursling comes at night and drains 
Unscorned the food of the plebeian race? 
By day I mark no living thing which rests 
On thee, save butterflies of gold and brown, 
Who turn from flowers that are more fair, more sweet, 
And, crowding eagerly, sink fluttering down, 
And hang, like jewels flashing in the heat, 
Upon thy splendid rounded purple breasts.

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As we approach Summer's once distant dog days...

Were you up early enough to enjoy the ground fog this morning? SiSi and I saw three different amounts and densities over three separate fields around the house. As attractive as I find misty mornings, some real rain is needed. Starting tomorrow, thunderstorms are in the forecast for four of the next five days. Of course, thunderstorms were forecast for the past two or three days and ... Nada!

the beauty of a misty morning marsh

Photo by J. Harrington

After the upcoming thunderstorms, a subsequent series of days with temperatures in the 90's should convince us that we're enjoying peak Summer. Right? Remember the cold and snow and wind of five or six months ago, when we, at least some of us, were wishing then that it was now? Now we have it. Are we trying to hurry Winter back? I hope not.

the drama of a Summer thunderstorm

Photo by J. Harrington

I do admit to a quandary. With the expected heat and humidity, wearing waders, even lightweight ones, promises to be more than a little uncomfortably soggy, especially if fishing from a bank instead of wading cool water. Then again, the sections of river I'm planning to fish are noted for their silty bottom, which suggests staying out of the water. I'm seriously contemplating wearing wading boots, jeans, and wading wet if need be. That might expose me to tick bites but I've already removed three this Summer so, maybe, that might be an end to them? Not likely. We'll give this some more thought. Instead of getting caught between a rock and a hard place, we may be caught between a tick and a soft (river) bottom.

Mist

Henry David Thoreau - 1817-1862

Low-anchored cloud,
Newfoundland air,
Fountain-head and source of rivers,
Dew-cloth, dream-drapery,
And napkin spread by fays;
Drifting meadow of the air,
Where bloom the daisied banks and violets,
And in whose fenny labyrinth
The bittern booms and heron wades;
Spirit of lakes and seas and rivers,—
Bear only perfumes and the scent
Of healing herbs to just men’s fields.

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Damping down Summer's spirits

Someone, or something, tipped over the recycling barrel last night. The top was still closed tight so there was no mess to pick up. The trash can, once it gets used, gets moved into the garage. That's inconvenient but less so than cleaning up the mess after a visit from the neighborhood bear. At least we continue to assume it's a bear and not raccoons. We doubt that a raccoon or two would have bent the hanger pole for the front of house bird feeder. That was the visit signature a week or so ago. Maybe it is time to consider adding a trail cam so we can see what, or who, is going on, if it's not too misty or foggy.

Summer: misty morning

Photo by J. Harrington

Early this morning the fields were full of mist, or, maybe it was ground fog. Windows stayed covered with condensation for most of the morning. We're not sure what left the "track" through the condensation shown below, but suspect it may have been a tree or gray frog. We're hopeful that today marks the peak of Summer's humidity and temperatures. Next week looks promising for getting some outdoor chores done, temperatures should be cooler and the dew point lower. All of which presumes we all make it safely through this afternoon's heat advisory and severe thunderstorm warnings.

whose track in the condensation covering the window?

Photo by J. Harrington

Those Summer Evenings

My father would, with a little squeak
and a shudder in the water pipes,
turn on the garden hose, and sprinkle
honeysuckle bushes clipped
to window height, so that later,
as we slept atop our rumpled sheets
with windows open to the scritch
of crickets, whatever breeze
might flirt its way between
our house and the neighbors’
would brush across the honeysuckle,
sweet and wet, and keep us cool.

– Ted Kooser, from Splitting an Order

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