Superior Summer 2021, Pt. 2 - Transition

 

Thirty-eight years ago tomorrow morning, Heather took my hand in marriage. Didn't fully understand why she'd do that then, it's still something of a mystery to me today.

S'okay. Mystery is the stuff of life.

By this time the day after, we'd set up camp in the Porcupine Mountains Wilderness for the first week of our honeymoon on the shore of Lake Superior.

The second week we spent at Bobcat Lake, in the Ottawa National Forest.

We'd been going to the U.P. together for some years beforehand and I don't recall there being any real question but that we'd honeymoon there.

When younger, autumn was our preferred time in the northwoods. Tent camping during late September in the wilderness was frequently hard. It tested us and mostly, we passed.

Over time, August became our preferred month because that far north it offers the best of both worlds. Many days are still warm enough to enjoy quality time at the beach…

…while others offer glimpses of autumn's cherished mystery.

By late August, summer's harsh light is softened.

Though the living forest remains lush and green.

Save for 'round the edges, where September can be seen.

In my heart of hearts, I still love northwoods autumn best. Except we've been tested, have prospered for the experience and over the many years since, haven't forgotten.

So the reasonably long days of late summer that come mostly filled with warmth and easy living make by far the stronger case.

Besides, autumn's coming right down the pike. Nothing will stop it and winter's close behind.

So best to make the most of summer while we can.

Shining Light on the Prairie – Winging Toward Autumn

I've wanted for years to get a great picture of a praying mantis. All its other peculiarities aside, the thing about a mantis is that it looks you right in the eye and no bones about it.

The gaze of other insects is often opaque. Not so, the mantis. It sees you.

On a humid summer evening with a squall line bearing down and knowing we'd soon have to duck inside, I finally got my chance. This young one appeared as if from nowhere.

I raced inside, grabbed the Nikon and happily, didn't blow it…

It's been an up and down year on our prairie garden. A chill spring led to prolonged drought, followed by violent storms, then persistent heat, high humidity and periodically, more fierce storms.

Though I'd my doubts throughout June and most of July, by August the resilience of prairie life won out.

Now with every passing day, the light softens and recedes.

With that, the food supply is steadily constricted. It's getting crowded out there.

While there's still some pollen left on the Echinacea…

…that's increasingly the province of birds, whose sloppy eating habits spread the seed that'll inevitably turn into next spring's bounty.

It's been a fine year for monarchs. At any given time I can stand out in the yard and as many as five of them flit around me in the breeze. They jealously guard the butterfly bushes, which will provide for latecomer's the last food available after autumn's first frost.

My friends the Great Black Wasps returned, made babies and then taught their kids where the good stuff is. Each day, those buster the Greek Oregano from first light to last.

This year featured fewer Skippers than I'm accustomed to, but there were some.

Everyone works harder now, for less.

With evening, cicadas sing in raucous chorus. Afterwards, the nightshift takes over and critters I'll likely never see pronounce their existence just the same.

Every living thing on the prairie knows exactly what time it is. And that time is getting late.

Maybe this year will be when we find a monarch caterpillar on our milkweed. After all, that's why we grow it. As is, these hardy little buggers prevail.

In any event, we'll always have the mantis. We didn't, until one dropped by before the storm and said Here's looking at you, kid.

At this point, I'm just happy I was here to see it. And am utterly convinced the mantis saw me, for sure.

Superior Summer, 2021 - Pt. 1

Now we're pretty much halfway between spring and autumn equinox, with summer solstice the celestial fulcrum upon which northwoods life turned.

Here's to Superior summer. When life is flush, the living is (relatively) easy...

…and everybody eats.

A splendid season, even if the light is too often harsh and unforgiving…

…and the world is mostly blue or green, with little other color space between.

Soon enough, autumn will be on us.

And during August in Superior land, sometimes you can't help but see it coming.