Yesterday was a rumbling kind of day, with blue sky alternating with dark clouds and rain. In between rumbles, the dog and I walked to the Narrows. On the Upper Narrows, quite close to shore, I saw a loon. I took a picture of it, but I didn’t have any great hopes that the picture would turn out well. Although the loon was not far from shore, it still seemed too far away for my little Cannon.

Once again, I chafed at my camera’s limitations, and I longed for a better camera with a proper telephoto lens. On the other hand, I probably wouldn’t have brought such a camera—which would be bigger and heavier than my little Cannon—on my walk. I certainly wouldn’t have been able to handle both it and the dog. So under the circumstances, it was foolish to wish for a better camera. Nevertheless,  I wished anyway.

On the Lower Narrows, a cracked branch with some orange leaves dipped over the water.

In a small boat, two young men were fishing.

Between my creaky knees and the dog’s desire to sniff and pee, our progress was slow. It took us well over a half hour to go a half mile. Never mind. With the Narrows glimmering and rippling on either side of the road, who wants to go fast anyway?

July is leaving us, and even though some of the days were too hot and humid, I am sorry to see the month end. As we edge into August, night is coming sooner and brings with it a certain chill. The crickets have begun singing, and I even saw an orange-tinged leaf in the backyard.

But Farmer Kev is now bringing us string beans and new potatoes, which Clif and I eat greedily, almost all of them in one sitting. Soon Farmer Kev will be bringing corn and melons and tomatoes, so there is much to anticipate.

But still! One more month of beautiful summer. One more month of hummingbirds. A little longer for the loons on the Narrows. I am not sure when the hermit thrushes leave. I’ll listen this year and note when I can no longer hear their ethereal song.

In the meantime, the flowers are still abloom, and I can’t stop taking pictures of them. Summer hasn’t left us yet.

In Maine, where the seasons are so sharply defined, each month has its own special characteristic, and for July it is fecundity. I was reminded of this yesterday when the dog and I took a walk to the Narrows Pond. Around my head buzzed tiny flies. Larger but still small insects dotted the water. Up and down they went, in some kind of dizzying dance, and occasionally a fish rippled the surface. Dragon flies darted in unison over the Narrows, over the purple flowers of a water plant whose name I don’t know.

All around me is life, life, life, with the insects, plants, and creatures taking full advantage of this warm time. Flowers are in bloom, along the roads and in gardens. Tiny cucumbers are ready to be harvested. Fledglings have begun leaving the nest, and in our backyard at one of the feeders, I have observed what looked like one adult woodpecker feeding another adult.  I am certain this is not the case, but rather a parent still feeding “junior,” who is not quite ready for independence.

Yesterday two crows hopped around the backyard, one crow feeding, the other crow following with its mouth wide open. The feeding crow did not oblige, figuring, perhaps, that it was time for this junior to strike out on its own.

July. One day it is brutally hot and humid, but then a storm comes and clears the air. Sometimes, the windows stay open at night, and sometimes they must be closed. The days are still long enough so that Clif and I can easily go for a bike ride when he comes home from work.

We are edging into buzzing August, one of my favorite months of the year, when the humidity leaves, and fine, dry weather settles over the state, giving tourists the illusion that they have somehow wandered into the Mediterranean.  Even the light seems more golden, more luminous.

We Mainers know better, but we, too, bask in the illusion, preferring not to look ahead to the long dark and cold.  And in late July, with the promise of August just around the corner, the life cycle seems in full swing, filling my senses with its promise and heartbreak.

When you are a fool for flowers, as I am, mid-July is one of the best times of year. Flowers are abloom everywhere—at the little house in the big woods, by the side of the road, in many yards in town. When I go for a bike ride, I bring my little Cannon, my stealth camera as I like to call it, and I often stop to take pictures.

Joan, a library volunteer, surely has one of the most beautiful yards in Winthrop. I admire her yard every time I bike by it, and Joan very kindly gave me permission to stop and take pictures of her flowers whenever I wanted.

“Come three times a day if you need to get the right light,” she said. “And don’t forget to go around back to get some pictures of the white hydrangeas.”

I didn’t need to be asked twice. After taking pictures of the front garden, I duly headed out back to where the white hydrangeas grew. I was certainly glad I followed Joan’s advice. Here is a picture of one of her lovely white hydrangeas.

I got some other good pictures, too. No surprise. Joan’s garden is so photogenic that it’s easy to get good shots.

Something tells me that in the near future, Joan will be receiving a set of flower cards.

High summer is here. At 11:30 a.m., it was 90 degrees in the shade at the little house in the big woods. Relative humidity? About the same. (Take note, Shari Burke. This is too hot and humid even for me.)

We are hosting a gathering here for the Fourth of July, and I have assigned various chores to various days. Yesterday was make ice cream pie. I made vanilla ice cream and put it in a graham cracker crust. Tomorrow I will make a raspberry sauce and a blueberry sauce, and we will have a refreshing red, white, and blue dessert.

One of today’s big chores was to weed-whack around the edge of the patio and various other places the lawn mower can’t get. I had hoped to go outside before it got really hot, but I am not an early riser, and by late morning it was, well, 90 in the shade.

Still, the chore needed to be done, and I knew that by the time the sun set, I’d be spent because of the heat. So I bribed myself.  If I weed-whacked, then afterwards I could have a cool drink, a couple of hard candies, and spend as much time as I wanted going over photos I took before I did the weed-whacking.

The bribe worked. As I labored and sweated, I thought about that cool drink and how pleasurable it would be to go over my pictures. In fact, the bribe worked so well that I even threw in a few other chores, just for good measure.

Now I can relax with a clear conscience for the rest of this hot afternoon.

Here are the pictures I took before weed-whacking. Lots of yellow in the garden. Funny, but that’s the color that seems to grow best at the little house in the big woods.

At the little house in the big woods, it is not easy to grow flowers and vegetables. There is too much shade and too much ledge. We bought this house before I became smitten with gardening, and I’m not sure we would have bought it had I realized how difficult it would be to grow things here.

Still, even though I constantly grumble that we have the worst yard in Winthrop in which to garden, I do like living on the edge of the cool, green forest. During these hot, humid days, all we need is our fan in the attic to get the house down to a nice temperature in the evening. And when I sit on the patio at dusk, listening to the hermit thrush and the loons, I can’t help but think there is no finer place to be in central Maine.

I also have to admit I have had some success with flowers. Over the years, I have learned what will grow here. Unfortunately, I also have spent a fair amount of money discovering what will not grow here. At any rate, here are some pictures of my July garden, when the little house in the woods is at its prettiest.

Yesterday, my cousin Lynn noted that the day was so fine that it surely must be a 12, surpassing 10 and even 11. (Take that, Spinal Tap!) And so it was. Today seems to be following in yesterday’s footsteps with a day so lovely and warm—but not too warm—that you would like to tuck it in reserve to be used on a bitter day in, say, March, when all hope seems to be gone.

We are more than half-way through June, and so far it’s been a pretty good one. We’ve had a nearly perfect mixture of rainy and sunny days, and the gardens seem to be bursting with joy.

To celebrate this 12 kind of day, here are some pictures from the gardens at the little house in the big woods. May we have many more days like this!