August seemed to arrive about the end of May, and it shows no sign of departing anytime soon.
The herbs and flowers that Adelaide so hopefully planted in what was supposed to be spring have long since given up and turned brown. Even regular watering didn't give them the will to see the summer through. Even some of the native plants, particularly azaleas and hydrangeas, are looking particularly stressed. We lost some during the last drought, and I expect that we will lose some more.
We have lost several small trees, and I worry about the red oak right beside the front deck and the white oak by the patio. Both of them show dead limbs, occasionally dropping one. Their demise would deprive us of much needed shade -- and having them removed would cost a princely sum, because both would have to be taken down in pieces and carried away by hand.
I was making good progress of my list of outdoor home improvement projects until I nearly amputated my left thumb with a table saw. That put paid to the outdoor projects. Realistically, I would have postponed many of them anyway because of the heat.
Since I am a left hander, the injured thumb also meant postponing a good many indoor projects, too. For a while, even trying to type was slow and painful, but within the past few weeks I have been able to apply at least nine fingers to the keyboard.
I have managed to keep the bird feeder filled. It hangs from an oak limb just outside the dining room window, and watching nature through double-glazed windows has provided more entertainment than television. The grandchildren have found the nuthatches a particular treat, marveling as they watch them walk up the tree trunk and then walk back down, always facing the direction of their travel, sometimes hanging upside down on the limb by the feeder. We had an abundance of goal finches early in the spring, but now a solitary brightly colored bird makes occasional trips to the feeder.
The red bellied woodpecker has returned to the feeder after an unexplained absence. When he cruises in to the feeder, the smaller birds scatter like destroyers making way for a battleship. Even the squirrel casing the feeder from a nearby maple branch doesn't want to cross him.
The fireflies which were so profuse during the spring have disappeared, but the August night brings its own interested creatures. We were sitting on the front deck one recent evening when Adelaide noticed the bird feeder moving. I had already noticed that on many mornings a feeder that was full at sundown was considerably less so by sunup. We flipped on the spotlights at the corner of the house and we could see the shadow of a creature clinging to the feeder A flashlight provided more illumination, and my suspicions were confirmed: we once again had a flying squirrel as a nighttime diner. It was unphased by all of the attention.
I walked down the steps to the base of the tree that the feeder hangs from.The feeder is about 20 feet overhead from that vantage point. From the base of the tree, there is a line that leads up to a pulley, which provides a way to lower the feeder for filling.
I gave the line a quick tug, and the squirrel glided down, passed just over my shoulder and disappeared into the darkness.
I'd be happy if August followed him.
Contact the writer at billatthelake@gmail.com
