THE LONG HOT SUMMER

Unusual dry hot weather this summer in Central Pennsylvania has browned the lawns and wilted and dried flowers and vegetable plants. I am amazed to see my daisies and other hardy flowers have already gone to seed.

I keep forgetting that Autumn doesn’t officially begin until September 22 this year, so there's time to still enjoy the summer. Tomatoes are ripening on the vines, not as large as in past years, but still plump, rosy red, and delicious—especially with a dash of salt on them. Only our daily watering has saved them from withering on the vine.    

My first very colorful and multicolored calibrachoas plant, beautiful with red, white and blue blossoms, succumbed to the heat early this summer. I replaced it with a pot of impatiens and have my fingers crossed. Even my coleus plants are struggling, despite their shady location behind a wall of ferns.

What likes this weather? Our four hanging ferns on the patio. They are basking in the humidity of the day, thanks to daily watering.

If we’re lucky, we occasionally see a thunderstorm appear on the horizon teasing us with dark steely clouds and flashes of lightning. The parched ground is only too eager to take a drink. But the amount of downpour, although sometimes slamming down in a quick torrential rush, only offers a slight relief to the vegetation and the ninety-degree temperatures of each day.

Scott and I like to watch our feathered friends, so I keep two feeders filled with seed in the middle of our yard. The bird bath nearby takes a hit each day, and I have to clean and refill it almost daily. It’s a small price to pay for the show the birds put on when we eat our meals and watch them out the windows in our dining room. Sparrows, robins, finches, thrushes, woodpeckers, and many others keep us entertained with their antics.

I think this summer has been unique. I had been hoping to see it as a busy outside one. Then, I realized that the heat that drives us inside has a purpose. There is a time to rest and a time for action. This summer seems to be telling me not to hurry, but to slow down and take some time to rest… and just enjoy life.

PORCUPINE FESTIVITIES

The weather in Central Pennsylvania has been fickle this year. Rain falls unexpectedly every other day, followed by periods of extreme heat. It makes for a wonderful atmosphere for our garden plants and flowers which are flourishing this year.

In one of my flowerbeds, as you enter the house through the back door, I have a bed of grape hyacinth which blooms profusely each spring. This summer, some critter keeps digging holes and unearthing the bulbs every night. I was blaming it on a skunk, but the other night my husband discovered a porcupine in front of our unattached garage, located outside the back door. He (or she) was not a large one, and we’re guessing from his size, he’s probably a yearling.                    

After some research, I found that porcupines are nocturnal herbivore rodents, and they eat things such as fruit, roots, tree bark, leaves of plants, flowers, vegetables, and bulbs. They also have a preference for salty items.

FUN FACTS:

They are the largest rodent found in North America and weight around twenty pounds. Basically loners, these rodents prefer to live and forage alone. They are good swimmers and excellent climbers, regularly scaling trees in search of food. Contact with others only occurs during the breeding season when the young, called porcupettes, are born. Bearing twins is unusual.

by jggrz, Pixabay

     Porcupines have about 30,000 quills they can use for 

     defense, but they cannot throw them as many legends 

     have earlier indicated. Porcupines have a range of about 

     14 acres and live an average of 18+ years in North 

     America. 

     Now, the burning question is how does a homeowner get

     rid of this irksome rodent? Unfortunately, the only permanent way is trapping him or fencing your plants, garden, and flowerbeds. Sometimes a liquid repellent from your local hardware store will deter him.

So basically, I’ve concluded that we’re stuck with pesky Mr. Porcupine since none of the above is possible or has worked. I’m told, when he runs out of food, he’ll move on. I’m guessing we’re in a relationship with this critter for the remainder of our summer months. 

                                    SPECIAL SALE FOR CHIRSTMAS IN JULY!

 

 

THE JOY OF JULY

There’s something poignant and special about July. For northern folks in the United States, it means our summer is one-third over—if we count our summer as June, July, and August.

July brings us a heap of good things to experience like beautiful sunsets and the glorious sweet scent of milkweeds blooming along the roadsides shouldering their way among daisies and Queen Anne’s lace. And of course, there’s glorious warm sunshine to enjoy.                                   

My favorite spot during the summer is on our swing on our covered patio, hung near the far edge of the terrace where you can view the stars at night or enjoy a fire blazing in a fireplace several feet beyond. When peace and quiet call the soul, you can sit there any time of the day and just absorb the soothing sounds of country life. The wind whispering in the trees. Birds prattling to each other. The lonesome whistle of a distant train.    

Muggy nights encourage us to linger outside and watch the lightning bugs dance in the grass or watch heat lightning flash across the inky sky. If we’re lucky, we might catch the plaintive call of an owl or night hawk hiding in a nearby tree.

I’m always in awe of the earth beneath us when July rolls around. A garden is one kind of a miracle. We carefully set our plants—flowers, vegetables, and herbs—in the tilled ground or in the buckets in our bucket garden for them to magically flourish using the gifts of soil, sunshine, and showers. Already, parsley, thyme, rosemary, chives, and oregano are ready for use in our summertime sauces, marinates, and favorite dishes.

July is also considered the ideal month for fireworks, picnics, weddings, and celebrations. But it’s also a special time to find joy in the little things and to appreciate the season with its bounty and beauty…even when we know it will end much too soon.

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                JUNE ~ The Pianist        ADELENE ~ The Violinist       LUCY ~ The Clarinetist

 

HAY SEASON ON THE FARM

June is a paradox for children who grew up on farms. It heralds the end of the school year when there are no more books, no more homework, and no more long bus rides winding through the rural backroads ten times a week. It is also a month when the hard work on a farm gets even harder.

June is haying season. It’s a time when hot summer days bring temperatures in the 90s, and farm kids work a job that’s hard, dusty, and endless.

Outside, mowers clatter along in the fields slicing swaths of sweet smelling clover, timothy, fescue and other grasses to be dried in the sun. Later, the hay is raked into fluffy windrows and collected and hauled to the barn’s haymow, pronounced “haymau” with the “mow” rhyming with “cow.”

Before we owned a baler, we collected our loose hay onto an old flatbed milk truck pulling a hay loader. As the dried hay was swept up onto the truck bed in an endless ribbon, Dad spread it evenly around until it reached a heaping full load. Often he let out a sharp whistle to the driver to stop while he pitched out a snake who took a free ride up with the hay. A whistle would also ensue when part of—or an entire—load slid off the bed on a steep hillside with him sailing along with it.

When fully loaded without mishap, the truck was pulled into the haymow where a two-tined hayfork on a track running along the barn’s peak was dropped by a pulley and rope and inserted in the hay. Pulled back up by another rope, the hay bundle slid up and along the rail to be tripped and dumped at the proper location in the barn’s loft.

The words mowing away hay to a farm kid's ears will bring a series of grunts, groans and weary-sounding expletives as a retort. On a hot day, mowing hay meant tearing apart the big heap of hay with a pitchfork and spreading it out to all corners of the loft. The mow was often several temperatures higher than outside. This exhausting, sweltering task went on again and again until the truck bed was empty. 

I often mowed hay for my dad. And I can truly say, I uttered a relieved sigh each time the last forkful was dumped, spread, and I could escape the itchy hayseeds and broiling heat to get a cold drink. Then it was back to the hayfield to do it all over again, constantly searching the bright sky for the smallest hint of rain—the farmer’s worst enemy during haying season. 

~ * ~

Featuring FOUR WHITE ROSES 

Finalist in the Book Excellence Awards, the Georgia Romance Writers' Maggie Award, and the American Fiction Awards.

 

HERE COMES AUGUST!

“August rain: the best of the summer gone, 

and the new fall not yet born. The odd uneven time. 

                                                                                                     ~Sylvia Plath 

 

Here she come comes…August and her last days of summer. I don’t know how those days flew by so fast. My husband saw some sumac changing to red on one of his many jaunts around the area. For many, myself included, it’s one of the harbinger of fall.

 

And who doesn’t think summer is sliding to an end when our local Clearfield County Fair gets underway? If you are anywhere in the vicinity of the fairgrounds during fair week, you can smell its presence. The sweet smell of cotton candy and waffles dunked in sugar wafts in the air with the flavored smoke of hamburgers, hotdogs, beef, and hot sausage cooking on burners under the concession stands. Anyone who owns land near the fairgrounds have lawns and driveways that look like parking lots. Children gather in groups to lose their money on games of chance or to ride any fast moving mechanical apparatus that swings its riders high into the air and twirls them around and around.                                                                                                             

Speaking of lawns in Central Pennsylvania, they are morphing into shades of light brown—which means less mowing, less gasoline consumed, and less work. Scott is not heartbroken over this occurrence, even though he agrees a thunder storm once in a while is a welcome relief from the heat we’ve been having. 

 

August is the month of reaping what we sow. Tomato plants, scattered around in my flowerbeds, are dressed in bunches of still green tomatoes. But if you’re lucky, you can find a handful of small red cherry ones to whet your appetite or to use for a treat on your salad. Why do the flavor of fresh juicy tomatoes from the garden taste better than any you can buy at a store?

This year, we tried a bucket garden again, concentrating on spices. We now have parsley, lemon thyme, rosemary, sage, mint, along with two buckets of marigolds and a bucket of lettuce. I also have chives in a bed and a container of basil on our patio. What get used the most? Ironically, it’s the chives that come up each year without fuss or coaxing. 

 

For some odd reason, instead of writing, my wandering mind and body heads off to do other chores that need my attention. I think it’s called procrastination. It’s one of my many talents. Do you have an activity or special summer chore you put off despite the nagging of a little voice inside your head? 

 

I’m always curious to hear how others enjoy the end of the summer season. Drop me a line in the comment section below. And, let’s enjoy August as summertime in all her sunny glory abdicates and autumn splendor ascends the throne next. 

 

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SUMMER ON MY SWING - Pondering Answers

“Hot July brings cooling showers, apricots and gillyflowers.” - Sara Coleridge

I admit as a writer I enjoy time alone to sit and think which is why I like July, why I like summer. My patio swing calls me to rest, enjoy the warm days or balmy nights, and ponder the world. It’s said curiosity is instrumental in driving our thought processes. It’s when I’m wrapped in that solitude when I ask questions which may or may not have answers: 

• Why can’t we see the wind? 
• How does the song sparrow learn its many different songs?
• Do woodpeckers get headaches? 
  
• What do northern squirrels think when they eat their first southern peanut from my bird feeder? Can they have an allergy to them? 
• Fireflies flash in patterns that are unique to each species. Have they ever learned another pattern like we learn second languages? 
• Why was the daisy chosen to be the flower plucked with the chant: He loves me, he loves me not?

 And my weird wondering brain chugs along…

Maybe in our attempt to explain things in nature, we need to accept there are mysteries which may never have explanations. As humans, we like explanations. We like plans. We like the predictable.

And, we like to ponder.

After all, isn’t that what creativity really is? The use of our imaginations or original ideas in the production of an artistic work?

So I leave you with this July wish: Take time to rest, relax, and contemplate the world around you. And if you get a bizarre or curious thought, drop it in the comment box below so we all can ponder the answer!

 

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IT'S JUNE!

Suddenly it’s June. It’s the month I’ve been waiting for all year. June ushers in summer for me here in Pennsylvania.

As a farm kid, it was the month of clover, alfalfa, and grasses drying in the rows in our fields. Smells were everywhere: The odor of gasoline from the tractor, hay truck, and lawn mower. The sweet fragrance of summer rag roses in the yard. The earthy aroma of rain as it approaches to soak the ground. The whiff of mint circling the old oak spring boxes in the pastures. These were all mixed together in the daily harmony of farm life.

There was also the unexpected that happened to throw a person off kilter. It was the black snake slithering over a stone wall as we tramped down the fields to the pasture to bring the herd of cows home for evening milking. Better yet, it was those aggravating times when the black racer’s lazy cousin, lying in the low branches of a hemlock tree, would drop down in front of the herd and send the cows racing willy-nilly up into the wooded hillside where we had to regroup them one by one. And we always counted. Numerous times we counted those cows to be sure we had them all before setting out for home.

When evening fell, we’d sit out on our front porch to catch a fading breeze and watch the barn swallows circle the sky and deftly snatch the last mosquito. Lightening bugs danced above the lawn and in the bushes. Windows were thrown open wide. If you were lucky, you had a window fan on the hottest night. The hum of insects in the grasses and trees were the songs that lulled us to sleep. Far off, you could hear the neighbor’s dog bark, upset by some night creature nearby. And everyone listened for the eerie hoots of an owl on his evening hunt.

When people ask if summers were the hard times of farm life, I’d have to say, they were the busy and tiring times with long days. But they were the good times.

It was June. It was summer. And it felt wonderful. 

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HERE COMES SUMMER..with its sights, scents, and sounds!

In June, I patiently search for the first signs of summer.

Listen closely, and you can hear the birdsong at sunrise. It’s the doves at our house who start the calliope of song if we leave our bedroom windows open. The nosy robins are back, nesting under our deck and in the rhododendron. Their first fledglings have already been booted out of the nest and intermittently (and annoyingly) squawk, calling for a parent. The brazen sparrows have also returned and have kicked the bluebirds out of their nesting box. Only one lone hummingbird visits our feeder.

Rain in June is a silver spoon as the old adage goes. It’s the month when vegetation emerges and gardens in the North are planted which will yield bountiful crops throughout the next four months and into fall. This year, my bucket garden has been watered quite often by the gray clouds hovering in the sky. I decided to change it up a bit. I’m growing some herbs: lemon thyme, rosemary, oregano, and parsley. Every year I grow a plant of basil on the patio.

The flower of June is the rose which is my favorite because of its soft, layered petals and delicate scent.

I was lucky to be born on a scorching, 90+ degree, June day—the last one of the month—right in the middle of haying season, as my Dad used to point out with a slight grumble in his voice.

When June arrives, farmers push hard during the sweltering sunny days to get a hay field cut, dried, and baled. The sweet and intoxicating scent of newly mowed grass fills the air and forces everyone near to pause and enjoy it, even if the work of cutting, baling, and storing it is hot, intense, and tiresome.

Do you have favorite sights, scents, and sounds of summer?

As poet James Russell Lowell so aptly writes about the month:

And what is so rare as a day in June?

Then, if ever, come perfect days;
Then Heaven tries the earth if it be in tune,

And over it softly her warm ear lays: 

Whether we look, or whether we listen,

We hear life murmur, or see it glisten…

                                    ~ James Russell Lowell – 1819-1891

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