The air is full of drifting thistledown,

Gray pointed sprites, that on the breezes ride. – Vita Sackville-West

Five years in 10, at least one afternoon in the 70s follows the late-July cool wave. Evening lows in the 50s, unusual only two weeks ago, often occur. And throughout the country, average high temperatures drop one degree around the 28th, their first drop since late January. Nevertheless, the Dog Days are not finished yet, and their power continues to hold for at least another two weeks.

Natural Calendar 

From the Mississippi to New England, the summer’s second-last wave of wildflowers – the biennial gaura, Joe Pye weed, monkey flower, tall coneflower, horseweed, white snakeroot, jumpseed, prickly mallow, willow herb, white boneset, field thistle and Japanese knotweed – is blooming in the open fields and along fence rows. Early seedpods of the touch-me-not burst at the slightest movement. Dogbane pods swing in the wind. Meadowlarks begin migration. Late-summer fogs appear at dawn. Grapes and pokeweed berries darken. Resurrection lilies are in full bloom.

Phenology

When pokeweed has green berries, Japanese beetles are usually at their strongest in the soybeans and roses. When morning birdsong diminishes and insect volume increases, then gardeners plant collard, kale and cabbage sets for fall.

   

Almanack Literature

In Defense of Dodging Work

Tips from an Experienced Procrastinator

By Sara B.  Conway

Been practicing nigh onto 68 years. When I was a wee young-un, Mama would say, “When you’re through playing with your toys, pick up and put them away neatly.”

Soon’s I was done, I’d scoop ‘em up and toss them into a heap under the bed when she wasn’t lookin’.

We were given farm chores to do soon’s we got big enough. Mine was to gather eggs from the henhouse and not dally about it.  But when I’d get amongst the cacklin’ old biddies, the devil would get into me.

I’d learned how to put a chicken to sleep by tuckin’ its silly head under a wing, then swingin’ it ‘round and ‘round. Sure did something to ‘em, ‘cause when I’d set ‘em down, they’d stay put for the longest time.

It was fun to see how many I could get settin’ in a row at a time. ‘Course this ruckus got an egg or two busted, and I’d have to carefully do away with the evidence.

When I’d get the egg basket to the house, Mama would ask what took me so long, and I’d say something like, “Aw, that dang, fool, old, speckled dominecker hid her nest out in the chicken yard again. Like to of never found it!”

When our corn got ‘bout tall as I was, Daddy would send me to the field with my sack of seed beans and a hoe. I was supposed to plant the whole sack of seeds, hoeing in three or four seeds around each stalk of corn, so’s they’d have something to grow on.

Mid-morning, that sun would get hot, the corn leaves would itch my skin something fierce, and the rows of corn would seem longer and longer. Besides, there was a pond nearby, water just right for a coolin’ swim.

After planting for hours one day, the bean sack seemed ‘bout as full as it was when I started, and I decided I’d done planted enough beans to feed several counties, so I’d just up and get rid of the rest.

At the end of a row, I spied me a humongous big flat rock. With the hoe handle I pried it ‘bout halfway up and dumped the sack under, scooping some soil over so’s not to leave any telltale sign.

I’d have got by with this, too, if about two weeks later Daddy hadn’t decided to check out the crop, and happened to stroll by the rock. Laws a’mercy! About a hundred or so of them beans had sprouted out from under that rock and was agrowin’ all over it.

Got me a good bottom tannin’ then, I’m here to tell you.

Mama hoped when I’d got older some of my orneriness would wear off, but even after I’d married Henry, I’d still have days when I’d goof off.

Especially when I was readin’ a novel so sizzlin’ I just couldn’t put it down. Then suppertime would slip up on me. It would be time for Henry to come in hollerin’, “What’s cookin’?” and by heck, I wouldn’t have the foggiest notion what supper was gonna be.

I eventually learned a good trick to stay out of trouble. I’d take me a big old apron, stuff its pocks full of cleanin’ articles, and keep it handy. I’d plug in the vacuum and let it stand at the ready.

Say suddenly I heard Henry at the front door, I’d quick-like don my apron, turn on the vacuum and go to the head of the stairs and call down hurriedly, “Be right down, hon, soon’s I finish up here.”

Then with the trusty old vacuum hummin’ busily, I’d quick-like smooth the bed covers and fluff up the pillows I’d been lollin’ on all afternoon. Then I’d hurry down to rattle them pots and pans to fix a slightly late supper.

Dear Henry never caught on, or, I don’t think he did, ‘cause I often heard him braggin’ about the workin’ old lady he was hitched up with.

It’s my theory everybody should have days when he just forgets the humdrum daily rituals and lets it all hang out. One thing for sure, the things we leave undone won’t go away. They will be right there waiting for us when we do come out of it.