A new friend joined me briefly as I watered the garden the other day—a hummingbird that flew directly into the spray of the hose and hovered there. I almost tipped the nozzle away, thinking it’d batter her, but then I realized she was drinking from the droplets in midair. Or at least that’s how it looked. Drink away, little one. And away she flew.
Summer /
And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees, just as things grow in fast movies, I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer.
...So wrote F. Scott Fitzgerald, but of course he was describing my home state of New York. Here in New Mexico we could instead say “bursts of buds growing on the prickly pears.”
Solstice /
For thousands of years, all around the globe, wherever humans have roamed or called home they’ve watched the stars. Constellations point the way. The waning and waxing of the moon marks the passing of lunar months. And the sun’s arc across the sky corresponds to the annual cycling of the seasons, with its lowest arc on the shortest day of winter and its highest on the longest day of summer. Today is that day: summer solstice. People have marked the precise point where the sun rises on the solstice each year with spiral petroglyphs or stone henges. This is my first summer living here, so this morning I made note of our local markers—from the front walk, we can see the solstice sun rise directly between a telephone pole and a V-shaped tree.
Blossoming /
A surprise greeted me this morning when I went out to weed at sunrise. A drop of gold hidden in the green! And, tucked under all those draping leaves, there’s the promise of many more squash blossoms to come.
Thriving /
Today’s spotlight, like the sunlight, is shining squarely on the squash plants. Heat, light, rain, heat, light: these guys have been doing well all spring, but in the last few days they’ve each taken off with a tough matrix of vines and tendrils exploring in all directions.
Rejuvenation /
The tomatoes have perked up post-rain, the corn and squash are thriving as ever, and—happy surprise!—even the sole remaining bean plant shows renewed vigor. After several weeks with just one battered leaf clinging to life, following this weekend’s cooler temperatures and deluge of fresh moisture it’s suddenly putting out new leaves left and right.
Recovery /
Yesterday’s thunderstorms offered relief from the recent fierce heat, but the reprieve will be brief. Already today, temperatures are set to climb into the eighties and, later this week, higher and higher back into the high nineties.
Still, maybe these hours of clouds, coolness, and rain were enough. They offered a window in which plants could refortify themselves for the coming summer.
Relief /
At last. We awoke this morning to the patter of rain: soft, steady rain shedding from clouds that promise to linger overhead for hours. The air is silver and cool. The heat has broken.
Patience /
Thunderstorms are forecast for the weekend, and with them cooler temperatures. If we can hold on a little longer through this intensity, we may soon have some relief.
Guidance /
In the Western tradition there is a recognized hierarchy of beings, with, of course, the human being on top—the pinnacle of evolution, the darling of Creation—and the plants at the bottom. But in Native ways of knowing, human people are often referred to as “the younger brothers of Creation.” We say that humans have the least experience with how to live and thus the most to learn—we must look to our teachers among the other species for guidance. Their wisdom is apparent in the way that they live. They teach us by example. They’ve been on the earth far longer than we have been, and have had time to figure things out. They live both above and below ground, joining Skyworld to the earth. Plants know how to make food and medicine from light and water, and they give it away.
(Robin Wall Kimmerer, Braiding Sweetgrass pp 9-10)