Perfection...More or Less

Friday, July 18, 2025

Spuds Roasting in the Hot Coals

Ligated Furrow Bees (Halictus ligatus), on Rudbeckia hirta,

are a common species of sweat bee

known for burrowing into the ground to create their nests.

Black Eyed Susans among the seed heads of Clematis viorna

We all are spuds roasting in the hot coals,

on any given southern summer day.

Midsummer noontide in a sky of brass:
The sun like flame licks at the blistered earth,
And shrivels up the blades of withering grass...
~John Gould Fletcher, "Midsummer Love"

It's so hot I put everything off.

Hot weather is the mother of procrastination.

My energy is at ebb tide. I'm getting caloricly stupid.

Tried to read...

Mind stumbled on a ponderous perioration

and fell in between two paragraphs

and lay unconscious for

ten minutes.

~Thomas Edison

There is a time when each life on this planet dies.

Neotibicen tibicen, swamp or morning cicadas

Often times called an annual cicada,

but all cicadas need multiple years to develop underground,

so their annual reappearance is presumably due to overlapping generations.

Hosta 'Halcyon'

Hibiscus Sawfly, Atomacera decepta

Only about 1/4 to 1/3 the size of the larva.

Green Planthopper, Siphanta acuta, a true bug.

Swamp Mallow seed pods opening up to drop seed.

Hibiscus moscheutos

Tthe original swamp-rose mallows grown were a very pale pink,

but seeds falling onto the ground inside the container

and sprouting vary in color.

This is biodiversity,

in that instead of cloning a plant to make a duplicate,

one plants the seed,

and gets an individual seedling with it's own personality.

Here I am; not out on my lovely deck being needled to death by mosquitoes, but indoors in the quiet of husband with headphones on watching television, and I, listening to the moans and groans of a new refrigerator that sounds more and more everyday like my husband’s stomach after a questionable meal.

I just finished off a bowl of egg salad shoveled into my mouth by Milton’s Original Multi-grain Gourmet Crackers. I’m chasing that awful taste down with an almond butter and blueberry topped cracker for dessert, along with a cup of steaming hot Irish Breakfast Tea with a scant teaspoon of orange blossom honey stirred in. A beautiful dinner made possible by a husband who does all of the grocery shopping.

The next morning -

Lost in sleep this morning, I came too late to dawn’s early party filled with bird songs and cicadas outrageous. The sun in all its glory has already blanketed me in this insufferable heat, and while warm afternoons bring in a bountiful amount of rainstorms, they usually last but a short time and then are gone.

The Liatris standing tall with blooms in the deck flowerpot are visited regularly by bumblebees and those smaller bees impossible to identify with the naked eye. Worried, after losing three potted Spicebushes last year, that I no longer had a male one to pollinate the others; I am happy to announce that three bushes are with berries, and one is all leaves and therefore the male.

I can see that the old Blackhaw Viburnums near the back fence are laden with green berries that are already in their creamy white stage, before turning blue, and then dark blue. Birds and small mammals visiting will begin eating them way before the small trees are graced with dark blue.

It’s to be expected when surrounded with human activity, that any day of the week will contain its share of annoying noises and today is no exception. My husband says a tree is being cut down several houses over, and what I hear is most likely the chipper. Maybe an Ash Tree… we have lost so many in the neighborhood these past several years.

And now the garbage truck makes its Friday rounds, and of course the cars that are always on the road one house over… back and forth, back and forth, back and… well you know the drill. One never escapes human created noise until way past midnight.

I was thinking about this very topic as I got into my bed last night; well, to be truthful, this morning is more accurate. I know, I should get a more meaningful life, but it is what it is. Anyway, as the crow flies, I could hear a freight train clickety clacking on the tracks about five miles away, and it felt like it was only a few houses down the block.

My husband is graciously watering the patio potted plants, while my nemesis, tiny flies at the breakfast table, are out in full force. I have found something just as annoying as those blood sucking mosquitoes. Isn’t nature devine?

The beautyberry, planted by some unknown entity, most likely a bird; is in its happy place. It has grown tremendously into a beast of a bush, probably fueled on by the dirty water of the bird bath when hosed out each day. It is a formidable creature to be reckoned with when trying to enter the space.

Its neighbor, the Brown-eyed Susans that have escaped our pruners, are blooming profusely, and fill the green space with loveliness.

Tall towering clouds are beginning to encroach into the mellow blueness of the summer sky, and beyond the south corner of the garden, one sees a sheet of grey at play. I think this is my signal, that I have been waiting for, to end this journal of today, and leave it as is.

I have yet to see the mosquitoes, but perhaps they are a bit smarter than me and are waiting for nightfall for that lovely first drink of blood. Since the flies require three sets of hands to keep at bay, and alas I have only two hands to enter into this game of a losing situation, I’ll throw in the towel and vamoose.

Wouldn’t you know it. A Bluejay later to the party than me. His bad.