dawdling

Some weeks ago we had a large dead maple tree cut down in the back. Yesterday I spent much of the day cutting it up for firewood this upcoming winter. I consolidate my woodpile for splitting purposes so I was moving it from one field to another.
It was a hot day, and I'm retired so there was a fair amount of dawdling in the back of the truck during the offloading process. Summer lay heavy in the sound of the wind through the tall grass. Butterflies chasing each other across the fields; white ones and burnt orange. Swallows chirping high in the sky overhead. Bouquets of cinquefoil, clover, and daisies smiling from the pasture; red, yellow and white. 

growing season

Growing season. Swallows have fledged in the back yard. Corn is growing in fields along the Clarendon river. Aluminum plates above a garden just down the road.

summer rains

We have had a couple of days of heavy rain. On Sunday evening, Allyn & I headed over to John's place to watch True Detective on HBO. The rain was torrential on the way over. I don't think it's possible for it to rain harder than it did. When we got there, the satellite dish was on the blink because of the heavy rain.
Thunderstorms this morning as well; flash of lightning, clap of thunder; rooster-tails of spray from car tires going through standing water on roadways. Patterns of miniature waves of water as rivulets cross the roads from one side to the other. The humidity causes the salt to clog up in salt shakers, probably my favorite "Other Side of the Creek" observation.

The rain is falling all around
It falls on field and tree,
It rains on the umbrellas here,
And on the ships at sea.
Robert Louis Stevenson

Father's Day

Went paddling with John on Lake Ninevah. Saw a wildflower I'd never seen before (bog laurel), and we saw a bald eagle. Breakfast in bed, and Google chat with the fam. Happy Father's Day, indeed!

stacking

Tomorrow is the summer solstice, the longest day of the year. American flags are flying in Brandon in anticipation of the 4th of July. Winter, however, is never really far away for Vermonters. Pete has a new pile of wood for stacking in his back yard.

It is the noon.
Orioles are crying
The river flows on in silence.
Issa

missed

Today is Allyn's last day of school, not only for the summer, but it is her last day of full time work as a teacher. She will return in the fall on a part time basis. She will be missed.

irises

Irises in bloom. Outside painters and construction workers are busy.  Two young girls in shorts on bicycles in Shelburne.

lupines

Sometimes in June, when I see unearned dividends of dew hung on every lupine, I have doubts about the real poverty of the sands. On solvent farmlands lupines do not even grow, much less collect a daily rainbow of jewels. If they did, the weed control officer, who seldom sees a dewy dawn, would doubtless insist that they be cut. Do economists know about lupines?
Aldo Leopold
A Sand County Almanac

shine

golden ragwort

Strawberries! Fireflies shining in the summer night. 

When God made The Man, he made him out of stuff that sung all the time and glittered all over. Then after that, some angels got jealous and chopped him into millions of pieces, but still he glittered and hummed. So they beat him down to nothing but sparks but each little spark had a shine and a song. So they covered each one over with mud. And the lonesomeness in the sparks make them hunt for one another, but the mud is deaf and dumb. Like all the other tumbling mud-balls, Janie had tried to show her shine.

Their Eyes Were Watching God

Zora Neale Hurston 

big

Phlox is blooming, ordinary, beautiful. Big bugs banging against the window screens in the evening. Big drops crashing into the patio during thunderstorms.

peonies

Biting into an apple as I sit before peonies-that's how I'll die.
Shiki
Zen page-a-day-calendar

first cut

There's a lot more activity in the bluebird house these days. The babies have hatched, and the parents are busy keeping them fed. Allyn has planted parsley, lettuce, and basil in the front garden. First cut for the haying season is underway.

forget-me-not

Walking up to Rocky Pond in Pine Hill Park yesterday. Heard the sound of a thrush, but couldn't tell if it was a hermit thrush or a wood thrush. Sound of a woodpecker. Saw a small blue wildflower that makes its appearance at this time of year. Remember seeing it a few years ago, but couldn't remember its name. Looked it up in my wildflower book, it's called a forget-me-not. Uh, oh yeah.

To me the meanest flower that blows can give thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.
William Wordsworth
Zen page-a-day calendar

Indian Paintbrush

Growing up in California, I was always intrigued by my surroundings when visiting relatives in Ohio in the summer. It was so green. I loved the fireflies and the thunderstorms which we didn't have in the Bay Area. After college, Allyn & I worked for a winter as ski bums in the Mount Snow area of southern Vermont. After the ski season was over, we continued to rent our small cabin in the woods, and stayed for the summer. The natural world in Vermont was a revelation. I had never seen so many wildflowers in my life. My favorite was a small, ordinary, prolific flower called orange hawkweed. Something about it was very compelling, maybe it was its other name, Indian Paintbrush. There were a lot of reasons that we returned to Vermont some 35 years ago, but seeing the Indian Paintbrush again was certainly among them for me. They are now once again in bloom.

wild and free

Boats on trailers, probably heading for Lake Champlain. Viburnum in bloom. As opposed to the black locust, these small trees are usually quite graceful and elegant. This tree looks like it has been carefully managed and cultivated in some Japanese Zen garden in Kyoto. However it is growing wild and free just down the road from here. It sits next to a bridge crossing the Ira creek.

gates of heaven

One of the realities of writing a blog like this is not only are you aware of what if present, but also of what is absent. Over the last several evenings I have gone out in the back and listened for the sound of the wood thrush. I haven't heard it. Without a doubt the sound of the wood thrush is my favorite bird call. It is beautiful, but also a little plaintive, wistful. To me it says summer is here, but soon it will be fall-followed by winter. Life is uncertain. The number of wood thrush is in serious decline due to disturbances in its territories, both summer and winter. Apparently it also picks up diseases from the oven bird. I hope this is just a temporary absence. Otherwise, this is a real personal loss.

The thrush alone declares the immortal wealth and vigor that is in the forest. Whenever a man hears it, he is young and Nature is in her spring. It is a new world, and a free country, and the gates of heaven are not shut against him.
Henry David Thoreau


you can find the sound of the wood thrush here
http://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/Wood_Thrush/sounds

blossoms

The black locust trees are blooming. The mature trees are scraggly and have a boxy, unappealing shape. The bark is rough and unattractive. The blossoms, however, are quite beautiful.