I haven’t written in a month, but July is like that every year.
July is kind of like December. You love everything that there is to do but you don’t intend to keep up this kind of pace forever.
Also, the boys keep finding me.
My red birds have moved into their summer home in the cedars along the little springs and creeks under the trees.
Goldfinches are still around at the feeders and the hummingbirds have moved back in. They chatter at me for not keeping the feeder as fresh as they’d like, they must not see how the boys keep finding me.
We had a white dove on the shop roof yesterday. I have a little superstitious streak in me, only about good things of course, so I told my feller maybe it was a sign of peace upon our little farm.
For a week now we’ve had a pair of green herons at the pond. They’ve been especially delightful to watch. They’re a quarter of the size of the Great Blue Herons that get chased off by the dogs, the ones that look like dinosaurs swooping over the yard as they go.
I got a few potfuls of purple green beans out of the little plot out back today. Cherokee Purple tomatoes were the first to ripen in the garden on the hill of the eight different heirloom varieties I planted up there. I didn’t put in as many zinnias as I like and no sunflowers, but I’ll do differently next year. I’m happy when walking into the garden is going into a rainforest of mammoth sunflowers taller than I am.
They say bright colors do good things for your mind. Maybe that’s why nature gives us the birds and flowers of July and we string up lights in December and decorate like we do.
“Expand Thy wings, celestial Dove, brood o’er our nature’s night on our disordered spirits move, and let there now be light.” (Charles Wesley)