Mid-Summer Lull
July 28, 2024
How easily I fall into the slow rhythm of the summer lull. Each morning is a little quieter than the one before. The indigo buntings, cardinals, and robins still sing in the morning, but their song is intermittent and less insistent now. As I walk by the lake, I hear the silence where the chatter of purple martin’s was just last week.
Indigo bunting singing his morning song:
The days are hot, though we’ve had blessedly few hot mornings so far. The baby birds are growing harder to distinguish from adults every day. Many wildflowers have gone to seed, many others are sending up new shoots preparing for their late summer bloom.
Damselflies and dragonflies can be counted on during the midsummer lull. The warmer it is, the more I see. The barn swallows swoop in to fill any bug-eating gaps left by the departing martins. The chimney swifts grow in number each week.
Every once in a while I see a fall migrant out across the lake. A Caspian tern made one circle across the lake and then disappeared. A ring-billed gull came by for a look. These birds remind me of what is coming, hopefully, in a few weeks. They remind me too that late summer is a time for wandering, dreaming, resting, and making space for what will come.
Even in the lull, there are surprises. I finally saw a scissor-tailed flycatcher in the park for the first time in four years. Prior to 2020, I could reliably find 4-5 nests in the park, often in the parking lots. Since 2020 I have seen none until I saw this lone female. I hope she is a sign that they may return - I still don’t know why they left!
Lark sparrow fledglings play along the edge of the gravel. I hear the slow, loud knocking of a pileated woodpecker coming from the nearby trees. A cuckoo sings his percussive song and then pops out for an unexpected photo! They are usually content to hide behind the leaves, so this is a nice surprise.
In this lull, my mind sometimes tells me I need to hold something back, just “in case”. In case it’s too hot to go out, in case there’s nothing to photograph, in case, in case, in case. It’s interesting how these thoughts creep in even as I have hundreds (or thousands) of unprocessed and unposted photos and videos to share. I’ve been through times before where I couldn’t get outside and it always worked out. Nonetheless, the story appears in my mind.
Perhaps it’s an instinct, as fall and winter start to come into the periphery of my mind. An instinct, the way squirrels start to store acorns and seeds. Perhaps it’s inherited, the way my grandparents carefully saved for a rainy day with memories of the depression fully engrained in their being.
On Wednesday, I was putting together the post I meant to send out on Friday. I included my favorite recent photos of a chimney swift diving through the water. I considered holding those back, saving them for this Sunday post, just “in case” I didn’t have anything else “as good” to share.
Then I remembered the boxes we opened at my grandparent’s house after they died. Beautiful aprons, still in the gift box with the card, stored for decades because they were “too nice to use”. I remembered the new housecoat on the floor of my grandmother’s closet, still in its box, sitting under the threadbare one she insisted on wearing. I remember telling myself then I would not save the best for special occasions.
I put the photos in the post and then, ironically perhaps, instead of scheduling it for Friday I accidentally hit send. It’s as if spirit had a message - there is no need to hold anything back. Put your best out to the world today, whatever day it is. Trust that your best tomorrow will still be good enough.
Saving for a rainy day is wise. In our culture of over-consumption, being mindful of waste is also wise. Woodpeckers and bluejays store seeds and many birds grow downy layers to make it through the winter months. Yet even in this saving, there is letting go. Birds let go of the feathers of summer to make way for the feathers of winter.
Perhaps some things aren’t meant to be rationed. The flower doesn’t hold back when it’s time to bloom. The chimney swifts hold nothing back when they rocket through the water.
Surely joy and beauty fall into the category of things not to be rationed. The moments come and they are meant to be enjoyed and shared. The next moment will not be the same, but spirit asks me to trust that it will be beautiful too.
I had completely forgotten I had this video of the tree swallows that were nesting in the marina in June. These little delights are some of the surprises when I have enough of a lull to go back and look! I’m not sure what she was telling him, but perhaps something along the lines of “get in there and check on the children”!
Thank you again. Reminded me to enjoy the mundane moments for they become what I most treasure. I especially enjoyed the little video. ☺️
I treasued these words: "It’s as if spirit had a message - there is no need to hold anything back. Put your best out to the world today, whatever day it is. Trust that your best tomorrow will still be good enough." Thank you. I am also honored by your knowledge about birds and the beautiful pictures you share.