As I sit here typing this post, it is the sweetest summer morning in Maine that anyone could ask for. The air is warm and dry. Next door, a hen clucks as she lays an egg. The grasshoppers buzz an August song. By my desk, the window is open, and a soft breeze, which rustles the leaves on the trees, comes in.
Quite a change from last week, which once again flipped to high humidity and high temps. There was another heat advisory, and we had to stay inside, cooled by our trusty air conditioner, Eva. On Friday, our friend Joel came over for drinks and appetizers, and it was too humid and hot to sit on the patio. Instead we had to gather in the living room, made comfortable by Eva.
But today, all is forgiven. If I were in charge, I would order 26 more days just like this one, with enough rain thrown in at night to water the plants. Like Goldilocks, I always want things to be just right.
Outside, the plants have thrived in the heat and humidity. Even though my gardens are at their best in June and July, there are still some things to admire.
This striking double daylily,
a modest but lovely hosta blossom,
and a delicate single daylily. I can’t decide whether its color is peach or salmon. I’m tending toward peach.
Because this is not thankful Thursday, I’m going to gripe just a little about the damage done to my hostas by slugs and snails
With all the rain and humidity, it’s been a good year for those slimy little nibblers. Time was when I did my best to keep the slugs and snails at bay, and I would patrol the yard with a jar of soapy water to drop them in. But in my old age, I have given up what seemed like a futile battle. No matter how many slugs and snails I caught, more would come. Fortunately, all that chewing doesn’t cause permanent damage. Still, I wish the slugs and snails would stay in the woods and find their meals elsewhere.
On the other hand, there are some visitors we don’t mind. One night, before going to bed, when I shut off Eva and opened the windows, I spied this little creature clinging to the screen. Attracted by the light, I suppose. Or rather, after some insect that was attracted by the light. By morning, our little visitor was gone.
When you live by the edge of the woods, you know you are going to share your yard with other creatures. Some you enjoy. Others not so much. But this morning as I watched some crow fledglings pester their parent for food, I thought about how we are all part of the continuum, the rich web of life in northern New England.





































