From Almanac.com: "
The summer solstice is the first day of summer, according to astronomy. The word solstice comes from the Latin words “sun” and “stoppage.” It makes sense: The Sun stops moving North that day. The Sun’s most direct rays reach the maximum northernmost position."
I've often pondered why the first official day of summer, leading us into the hottest months of the year in the northern hemisphere, should also mark the incremental loss of daylight. The above simplified explanation does make sense.
Weather and seasons don't strictly abide by the calendar and we've been enduring heat and drought for most of the month.
Jim waters the garden every evening, I water my flower planters near the front door. I noticed today that the rosemarys summering on the screened porch are looking stressed. I forgot to water them yesterday and hope the water and pruning I did today [Sunday] will coax them to revive.
I had in mind a rather laid back Sunday as the past week was demanding. I thought of setting up my new laptop, working on a quilt, reading.
I followed J. to the garden and discovered more than a gallon of green beans that needed picked. He meantime picked tomatoes and cukes and created a big salad which became a very late breakfast. with home fries on the side.
Planters near the front steps dry out quickly in the morning sun. The raised bed behind the planters is home to Achillea, Russian Sage, Blackberry Lilies, New England and Prairie Asters, and Blue Sage. All the plants have leaned toward the sun, resulting in a colorful but untidy sprawl.
This rough strip along the drive is where my cherished perennials landed when we moved from the farm. Countless hours of heavy weeding, many applications of bark mulch haven't kept the strip weed-free. Monarda Raspberry Wine, daylilies in shades of yellow, orange and deep purple along with earlier foxglove and some prairie asters in shades of pink, lavender and purple--an unintentionally 'hot' blend of colors.
More Raspberry Wine monarda in the back garden--another project that hasn't progressed as I hoped.
I suspect a cat or visiting dog may have dug up this lone dwarf daylily and I impulsively rehomed it in the bin/bed outside my bedroom window. It looks a bit out of place there, but at least has room to thrive.
Phlox also in the black bin. These nursery plants were first set out in the rough strip where they were promptly swallowed by weeds. They have bloomed happily for two summers in this inelegant spot.
Nasturtiums delight me in spite of their tendency to flop and have the lower leaves turn yellow. I was not yet in my teens when I commandeered the space that had been a childhood sandbox to plant a packet of nasturtiums. My Dad assured me they wouldn't grow there--too shady--but they did. For many years at our Young Road home I grew nasturtiums in a large wooden half barrel. When frost threatened I picked as many as possible, bringing them indoors to cram into mason jars where their peppery fragrance distilled through the living area.
Jim grumbles over my sunflowers as they always fall over in late summer wind. This group sprang up after he tilled the garden and I fiercely defended their right to grow there. I have a double row of shorter varieties growing on the far edge of the garden, a space rather grudgingly allowed by J.
All winter as I trudged along the edge of the north ravine fallen hickory nuts rolled under my booted feet. I pondered how many of the thousands of nuts would germinate and push up tiny trees. It would seem that they came up by the hundreds, many directly in the meadow path, more visible as valiant sprigs where the land tips down into the shady tangle of the ravine. This area is regularly mowed so I doubt any of the fledgling trees can survive. It is interesting how quickly the fallen nuts shed their hard casings and responded to spring's warmth and moisture.
I don't spend a great deal of time outdoors during weather such as our recent heat wave, hurrying out with kitchen trimmings or to get into the car for an errand. As evening comes on it is sometimes possible to endure at least one loop of the meadow path. On an evening last week the sky above the setting sun was brushed with feathery clouds.
Sunday evening's pink and thundery sunset which gave way by dark to a burst of brisk rain. Not enough to soak the ground, but sufficient to refresh the garden and clear the air.
Achillea with the flash after dark.
After picking the green beans yesterday morning, my clean cotton shirt was plastered to my back. Feeling grubby I decided to work at pruning down foxglove stalks and cutting back the roses that have been trashed by the yearly invasion of sawfly larvae and Japanese beetles. Hot work as by then the sun had come round the house to glare down on the plantings above the concrete retaining wall.
Tiny brown seeds rained from the foxglove stems, clinging to my sweaty forearms, landing in my hair.
There is so much more that 'wants done' in every planted area, but I am learning when a sensible quitting time has arrived.
Shampooing my long hair in the shower I wasn't surprised to feel foxglove seeds under my fingertips. It took extra rinsing to wash them away.
I began assembling this post late on Sunday evening.
Clattering on the front porch drew Jim and me to switch on the outside light and peer through the front door windows. Two raccoons, their long fur streaming wet with rain, were battling for supremacy of the cat kibble tray. The smaller of the two was definitely losing out, cringing on the top step, being shoved backwards by the larger coon. J. opened the door a few inches, made shooing noises. The larger coon, startled, made another swipe at the smaller one, bumbled into the water bowl which rolled off the porch, coon following with a thump into the raised bed.
We expected him/her to reappear but when it didn't the smaller racoon began a timid approach to the now askew kibble tray. The smaller coon polished off the remaining kibble glancing anxiously over its shoulder with each mouthful.
Jim has worked with Howard for several days on a local building job. The location is near a main highway and that along with the high heat has meant it wasn't safe for Howard to take his three dogs who usually ride to every job site. I have been dog-sitting. They are companionable creatures and not much trouble; I take them outside for a short walk down the lower path about every hour and a half.
The men plan an early start to take advantage of the cooler mornings. I'm liking this as I have food prepared and housekeeping done before noon.
This morning I felt a bit tired and rickety, so rewarded myself with an hour of Kate Jackson's 'Last Homely House' videos.
I still managed to have a batch of bread out of the oven a few minutes before noon.
The men have returned and eaten. The kitchen needs a bit of tidying.
That done, will I attempt some sewing? Do I have wits enough left to sort the laptop? [ I doubt it!]
Rosie-cat has landed on my desk and from there onto my front. She tolerates the dogs but as soon as they depart she asserts her ownership of me as her person, snuffling in my hair, purring in my ear.
Perhaps Rosie and I will take a book--and a bowl of tapioca pudding--and see if it is cool enough to sit on the screened porch and watch hummingbirds come to the feeders.
{BTW: the rosemary plants appear to have appreciated extra watering and pruning.}
