When does summer begin for you?

June 1 is the beginning of meteorological summer. June 21 is the beginning of astronomical summer. Larry Weber, a naturalist up in Duluth, Minnesota that I follow, defines the beginning of summer as “when the open field flowers begin to outnumber the woodland flowers.” I like Larry’s definition the best, and have adopted it for myself, and I think I can even refine it further (for me personally) as when I first notice the musk thistles on the roadside. Today was the day. Happy First Day of Summer everyone!

musk thistle or nodding thistle (Carduus nutans)

i’ve had my eye on you

I have been eyeing this smoke bush for weeks now. It sits on the roadside between my house and our closest major shopping area. Are you familiar with smoke bush/smoketree? It is one of my favorite plants to decorate with. Big and dramatic, yet soft and inviting at the same time. I cut enough to fill two large vases–one sits on my mantel and the other on my new kitchen island. Instantly, my house felt elevated and hint more pulled together. I wish it bloomed all summer long.

American smoketree/smoke bush (Cotinus obovatus, syn. Rhus cotinoides)

every breath you take

I attended the funeral today of my friend’s dad. He was 86 years old. It was a truly beautiful tribute to a life lived fully. It celebrated the kind of life we don’t see much of any more: 64 years married to the same woman, 60 years in the same house, and 60 years in the same church as a member of the choir. 2 kids, 4 grandkids, and 2 great-grand-babies. A long career in the same company. And travel to over 40 countries. A rich life. And at the same time quietly and humbly midwestern–integral to his family, his neighborhood, and his church. I was moved.

dandelions with airborne seed fluff

curious gifts

These feathers were gifted to me by one of the attendees at a talk I gave to the AAUW. When I give a talk and sign books immediately afterwords, the names and faces all become one big adrenaline fueled blur. I wish I could remember who gifted me these delicately beautiful feathers. She told me they were golden pheasant feathers, so I just assumed she knew a hunter (probably her spouse) and that golden pheasants were a popular game bird in some place like Kansas or Oklahoma, and that is how she came into possession of them. Later I looked up golden pheasant, and realize it is native to China and the male plumage is audacious. Now I am curious. How did she come to possess them? Why was she willing to share them with me? Did She travel to China? Or are there golden pheasants here in the US? Are these the female feathers or the male’s? There is a story about these feathers, I just know there is. If only they could speak.

golden pheasant feathers

past peak expression

I just got back from teaching two workshops up in Bayfield, Wisconsin at a gorgeous wellness retreat called Wild Rice Retreat. One of my mini-lessons is called “Seeing Past Peak Expression” where I try to convince my participants to look for subject that are before or after their peak expression. Most people want to photograph/draw/paint the rose/lily/dahlia in its full blooming glory. I get it. It’s hard not to. So, I tell them “do it”, but then go back outside and look for the not-so-perfect specimen. Try to find the most expressive one and photograph/draw/paint that. And then decide for yourself which you prefer.

spent yellow rose