Break out your maypoles and herrings. Build your midnight bonfires. Dig into your grandmother's old trunk to find her pagan paraphernalia that she hid from the neighbors.
Today is summer solstice. The longest day of the year. Well, in the northern hemisphere. People south of the equator are suffering through the shortest day of the year. That is, unless they live in Ecuador, Gabon, or Borneo, where today is just like almost every other day in length.
For pagans, it was a time to celebrate fertility, or the hope of it, as the tribal food stores dwindled before the fall harvest. The day was shared by cultures throughout the world as a day of hope -- and reckoning.
Whether coincidentally or not, several ancient sites align directly with the summer solstice. Some anthropologists have concluded, with very little evidence (but that is the trademark of the profession), that the sites served as astrological devices to inform the community when it was appropriate to plant crops.
Getting it wrong was the type of professional malpractice that could cause tragic results for the community. If that happened, the leaders and priests who provided the wrong information were often deposed. "Deposed" can also be read as "being dead."
For those of us who live in a post-pagan society, today is the first day of summer. That is the modern practice, even though some cultures still call it midsummer -- as Europe did at the time of Shakespeare. You may remember a play by that name.
American students label summer a bit differently. For them, it began weeks ago when school let out.
I rather like the old tradition of referring to the summer solstice as the middle part of summer. But that rather plays havoc with the notion of fall around these parts. September is usually our hottest month.
From a purely provincial viewpoint, summer arrived here a week or so ago -- in its usually fashion. June has some of the nicest days of the year. But, one day you can almost believe the nonsensical myth that our area is paradise. The next day, it can feel as if that fat guy who flouts the towel rule in the sauna has just thrown a bucket of water on the rocks.
That first day of our newly-arrived spa, I told Antonio the Pool Guy that summer was near. Of course, I said it in my version of Spanish that is the equivalent of David Sedaris's "me-talk-pretty-one-day." He laughed and informed me it was already here.
Had I owned the Spanish chops, I might have told him that he was wrong. Summer was still a week away. But, then I would have sounded like the guy who is always correct about technical points, but no one really cares. Such as, whether the 21st century began on 1 January 2000. My language handicap kept me from becoming Woody Allen's Pedantic Man in Midnight in Paris. Well, this time.
Whether today is the first day of summer, midsummer, or simply part of the longest summer does not really matter. But it certainly is summer.
Yesterday we had an incident here that summed up the fledgling season that marks the end of bird spring. Five grackles showed up in the palm trees in my patio. They were accompanied by an almost adult-sized fledgling that was squawking incessantly that its maw needed to be crammed with protein.
The grackle mob had some tasty targets in mind for the youngster -- tender young dove.
Up until yesterday, I had no idea if the dove nest in my palm tree was being tended by one or two adult doves. I found out yesterday. There are two.
The moment the grackles arrived, one parent protected the now-quite-large nestlings by sitting on them in the nest. The other parent stationed himself at edge of the tree.
The grackles did their best to lure the defending parent away by flying threateningly at him. He stood his ground. The young grackle screeched louder for its tea.
The rather one-sided battle continued for about five minutes. Finally the adult grackles took their screaming brat in tow and flew off to pillage a nest less-defended.
I have no idea if what happened today was related to yesterday -- other than the fact that all time is intrinsically related. But the two nestlings were out on the tree this morning away from their nest. It was time for them to begin a new life.
While I was reading below them, I could hear the occasional frantic flapping of wings. When I checked, one of them was gone. But it soon returned. Perhaps it confused its role in the Noah story.
Having spent its entire life (to this point) with its fellow nestling, perhaps it returned to encourage it to fly off and experience whatever life has to offer to an animal almost at the bottom of the food chain. Of course, I was simply projecting my own mawkish sentimentality. It may have returned to see if there was another meal on tap from mom and dad.
Getting it wrong was the type of professional malpractice that could cause tragic results for the community. If that happened, the leaders and priests who provided the wrong information were often deposed. "Deposed" can also be read as "being dead."
For those of us who live in a post-pagan society, today is the first day of summer. That is the modern practice, even though some cultures still call it midsummer -- as Europe did at the time of Shakespeare. You may remember a play by that name.
American students label summer a bit differently. For them, it began weeks ago when school let out.
I rather like the old tradition of referring to the summer solstice as the middle part of summer. But that rather plays havoc with the notion of fall around these parts. September is usually our hottest month.
From a purely provincial viewpoint, summer arrived here a week or so ago -- in its usually fashion. June has some of the nicest days of the year. But, one day you can almost believe the nonsensical myth that our area is paradise. The next day, it can feel as if that fat guy who flouts the towel rule in the sauna has just thrown a bucket of water on the rocks.
That first day of our newly-arrived spa, I told Antonio the Pool Guy that summer was near. Of course, I said it in my version of Spanish that is the equivalent of David Sedaris's "me-talk-pretty-one-day." He laughed and informed me it was already here.
Had I owned the Spanish chops, I might have told him that he was wrong. Summer was still a week away. But, then I would have sounded like the guy who is always correct about technical points, but no one really cares. Such as, whether the 21st century began on 1 January 2000. My language handicap kept me from becoming Woody Allen's Pedantic Man in Midnight in Paris. Well, this time.
Whether today is the first day of summer, midsummer, or simply part of the longest summer does not really matter. But it certainly is summer.
Yesterday we had an incident here that summed up the fledgling season that marks the end of bird spring. Five grackles showed up in the palm trees in my patio. They were accompanied by an almost adult-sized fledgling that was squawking incessantly that its maw needed to be crammed with protein.
The grackle mob had some tasty targets in mind for the youngster -- tender young dove.
Up until yesterday, I had no idea if the dove nest in my palm tree was being tended by one or two adult doves. I found out yesterday. There are two.
The moment the grackles arrived, one parent protected the now-quite-large nestlings by sitting on them in the nest. The other parent stationed himself at edge of the tree.
The grackles did their best to lure the defending parent away by flying threateningly at him. He stood his ground. The young grackle screeched louder for its tea.
The rather one-sided battle continued for about five minutes. Finally the adult grackles took their screaming brat in tow and flew off to pillage a nest less-defended.
I have no idea if what happened today was related to yesterday -- other than the fact that all time is intrinsically related. But the two nestlings were out on the tree this morning away from their nest. It was time for them to begin a new life.
While I was reading below them, I could hear the occasional frantic flapping of wings. When I checked, one of them was gone. But it soon returned. Perhaps it confused its role in the Noah story.
Having spent its entire life (to this point) with its fellow nestling, perhaps it returned to encourage it to fly off and experience whatever life has to offer to an animal almost at the bottom of the food chain. Of course, I was simply projecting my own mawkish sentimentality. It may have returned to see if there was another meal on tap from mom and dad.
It stayed only for a moment. Now, there is only one nestling -- or branchling, I guess.
The parents have disappeared. It is now on its own. Necessity will force it leave -- because I do not think there is a basement apartment in that nest where it can take up residence like a twenty- or thirty-something.
And so the summer begins.
The parents have disappeared. It is now on its own. Necessity will force it leave -- because I do not think there is a basement apartment in that nest where it can take up residence like a twenty- or thirty-something.
And so the summer begins.
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